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POEMS, 


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ALSO 


TWO   ARTICLES  IN  PROSE. 


BY  ELIZA  R.  SNOW. 


"And  I  saw  another  angel  fly  in  the  midst  of  heaven, 
having  the  everlasting  Gospel  to  preach  unto  them  that 
dwell  on  the  earth,  and  to  every  nation,  and  kindred,  and 
tongue,  and  people,  Saying,  with  a  loud  voice,  Fear  God  and 
give  glory  to  Him,  for  the  hour  of  His  judgment  is  come." 

John,  the  Revelator. 

"He  that  judgeth  a  matter  before  he  heareth  it,  is  un- 
wise." Solomon. 


COMPILED   BY   THE   AUTHOR. 


VOL.     II. 


SALT    LAKE    CITY: 

PRINTED    AT    THE     LATTER-DAY    SAINTS'    PRINTING     AND 
PUBLISHING     ESTABLISHMENT. 


1877. 


J 


1  . 

INDEX. 

p. 

VGE 

Page 

Dedication 

1 

The  Hypocrite  and  the 

Stanzas 

3 

Traitor 

69 

The  Ultimatum  of  Hu- 

The Champion    - 

73 

man  Life 

5 

The  God  I  Worship  - 

75 

The  Past  Year 

10 

Our  Religion 

77 

Whatever  Is,  is  Right 

13 

To  Be tpr  Not  to  Be    - 

70 

My  Bankrupt  Bill 

18 

-What  is,  and  what  is 

Contrast 

22 

not  for  Woman   - 

81 

Immortality 

2-1 

The  Grave 

82 

Confidence 

27 

JThe  Tattler      - 

83 

The  Grand  Conquest     - 

32 

Hints  at  Matters  of  Fact 

Nationality     - 

36 

in  Utah 

86 

The  Hopes  of  Heaven   - 

41 

How  '70  leaves  us   and 

To. a  Stranger 

48 

how  '71  finds  us 

88 

Contentment 

45 

Ourselves  and  our  Ene- 

Narcissa to  Narcissus 

47 

mies    - 

92 

To  a  Young  Saint 

48 

A  Voice  from  Utah 

95 

The  Hero's  Reward  - 

50 

The  Kingdom  of  God 

07 

The  Day  is  Dawning    - 

52 

The       Fountain      and 

The  Lamanite 

53 

Streams  of  Life 

99 

The  Thoughts  of  Home 

58 

I  am  Thy  Child   • 

100 

My  Own— My  Country's 

Man  capable  of  Higher 

Flag 

60 

Developments 

101 

Ode  to  Liberty 

62 

Life's  Compounds     - 

103 

The  Year  has  Gone 

65 

Whom  I  Pity 

107 

Peace  in  the  States  ~ 

67 

The  Year  1872  - 

109 

J 


IV 


INDEX. 


Page 
Florence  -  -  -  112 
At  the  Sea  of  Galilee  113 
Change  -  -  -  115 
The  Ship  -  -  117 
My  Country-- A  Lamen- 
tation -  -  119 
The  Fathers  -  -  123 
Address  for  the  24th  of 

July         -           -          -  125 

Good  Society  -          -  133 

Psalm         -           -          -  139 

Jubilee  Poem            -  144 
Song  of  a  Missionary's 

Children       -          -  148 

Annie's  Sympathy        -  150 

Angel  Whisperings  -  152 

My  Father  Dear  -          -  153 

Santa  Claus     -          -  155 

Address  to  Parents        -  156 

In  Memoriam— 

My  Sister          -           -  159 

Willard  Richards  -  162 

Jedediah  M.  Grant     -  163 

Heber  C.Kimball-  165 

George  A.  Smith         -  166 

Caroline        -          -  169 

Alice     .  -           -           -  170 

Eloquence       -          -  171 

Woman      -          -           -  173 

One  of  Time's  Changes  179 

Temple  Song       -          -  181 


Page 

Retirement     -  -         183 

Reflections  -  -    184 

A  Winter  Soliloquy  -         186 
My  Epitaph         -  -    187 

Our  Nation      -  -         189 

To— She  knows  Who    -    192 

To  Mrs. 194 

To  Mrs.  H.  Gray,  N.  H.     199 
To  a  Philanthropist  200 

The  Ladies  of  Utah  to 
the  Ladies  in  General 
Johnston's  Expedi- 
tion against  tbe  "Mor- 
mons," when  his  ar- 
my was  encamped  on 
Ham's  Fork,  near 
Fort  Bridger  -         202 

Crossing  the  Atlantic        205 
London  -  -         207 

Apostrophe  to  Jerusa- 
lem    -  -  -         210 
Personification,  in  Five 
Chapters  —  Introduc- 
tion        -          -  -    213 
Chapter  First            -         215 
Chapter  Second  -  -    229 
Chapter  Third            -         242 
Chapter  Fourth  -          -     258 
Chapter  Fifth            -         272 
Funeral    of    President 
Brigham  Young    -        281 


Hetotcatton 


TO  BRIGHAM  YOUNG, 

President  of  the  Church  of  Jesus  Christ  of  Latter-day 

Saints. 


Servant  of  God,  most  honor'd— most  belov'd: 
By  Him  appointed  and  of  Him  approv'd. 
Prophet  and  Seer — You  stand  as  Moses  stood, 
Between  the  people  and  the  living  God. 

All  human  wisdom  and  all  human  skill 
Could  never  qualify  you,  thus,  to  fill 
The  place  you  occupy:  nor  conld  you  bear 
Thro'  human  aid,  the  weight  of  duties  there. 

*  ■:•*  $  # 

yrhe  world  was  cloth'd  in  deep  impervious  gloom, 
Like  death's  dark  shadows  mantling  o'er  the  tomb 
A  cleric  inrl'ence  truth  and  falsehood  blended 
And  over  Christendom  its  cords  extended.  \ 

The  heavens  were  closed— no  angel-form  appear'd 
No  heav'nly  visions  human  optics  cheer 'd: 
From  God,  his  children,  so  estrang'd  had  grown, 
His  voice  for  centuries,  they  had  not  known. 


POEMS. 


At  length  He  spoke.     Who?     Father?     Yes,  He 

spoke 
To  Joseph  Smith,  and  long,  long  silence  broke — 
Announc'd  to  him  the  work  that  must  be  done, 
And  thus  the  Dispensation  was  begun. 

Call'd  singly  to  confront  the  world  in  youth, 
Joseph  was  firm  and  valiant  in  the  truth — 
The  tide  of  sin  and  unbelief  withstood, 
And  seal'd  his  testimony  with  his  blood. 

With  God's  own  spirit — with  His  wisdom  rife, 
He  chang'd  the  current  of  the  stream  of  life — 
Plac'd  a  bold  veto  on  its  ebbing  tide 
And  caus'd  the  ship  of  life  to  upward  ride. 
*  *  *  « 

Joseph  was  slain:  his  mantle  fell  on  you — 
Th'  eternal  spirit  rested  on  you  too, 
Diffusing  light  and  knowledge  round  about — 
'Tis  in  you  like  a  fountain  flowing  out. 

Above  all  pow'rs  upon  the  earth,  you  have 
The  keys  to  govern  and  the  keys  to  save — 
To  save  from  ignorance,  folly,  and  distress, 
And  lead  mankind  to  God  and  happiness. 

*  i-i  *  * 

Happy  that  I'm  permitted  so  to  do, 
I  dedicate  this  Volume  unto  you; 
With  one  desire  prevailing  in  my  breast, 
That  unto  others'  good  it  may  be  blest. 


POEMS. 


I  fondly  hope  and  trust  it  may  impart 
Light  to  the  mind  or  solace  to  the  heart, 
And  like  "the  widow's  mite,"  an  off 'ring  prove, 
Welcom'cl  by  saints — approv'd  of  God  above. 


STANZAS. 


Why  should  we  grasp  the  shadow, 
And  let  the  substance  fall? 

Why  do  we  leave  the  honey, 
And  fill  our  cups  with  gall? 

Why  scorn  the  lovely  violet, 
And  pluck  the  prickly  pear? 

And  why  select  the  thistle, 
While  roses  flourish  there? 

Why  do  we  swallow  poison, 
And  call  the  poison  good; 

And  not  refresh  the  stomach, 
With  pure  and  wholesome  food? 

W&y  choose  the  midnight  darkness, 

In  pref'rence  to  the  day? 
Why  glut  our  minds  with  falsehood, 

And  thrust  the  truth  awTay? 


POEMS. 


Why  in  their  sin  and  folly, 
Will  people  choose  to  die, 

When  God  extends  salvation 
In  fulness,  from  on  high? 

'Tis  blindness — O,  'tis  blindness, 

That  shrouds  the  human  mind- 
That  mantles  o'er  the  judgment, 
And  wraps  the  senses  blind. 

How  long  will  Adam's  children, 
By  Satan's  pow'r  be  led? 

How  long,  degeneration, 
Control  the  path  we  tread? 

Until  the  chains  are  broken — 
Th'  oppressive  chains  that  bind: 

Till  man  regains  his  freedom — 
The  freedom  of  the  mind. 

Then  will  the  Holy  Priesthood, 
Diffuse  its  light  abroad; 

And  lead  man  safely  upward, 
To  nature  and  to  God. 


POEMS. 


THE  ULTIMATUM  OF  HUMAN  LIFE. 


The  sun  had  set,  and  twilight's  shady  mood 
Spread  a  brown  halo— ting'd  the  solitude. 
As  days  last  glimmer  flitted  down  the  west; 
Life's  stirring  scenes  demurely  sank  to  rest- 
Soft  silence  lent  its  contemplative  charm, 
And  all  conspir'd  the  mental  pulse  to  warm— 
From  world  to  world,  imagination  wander'd, 
While  thought,  the  present,  past,  and  future  ponder'd. 

As  I  was  musing  with  desire  intense 

That  some  kind  guardian  angel  might  dispense 

Instruction;  lo!  a  seraph-form  appeared — 

His  look — his  voice  my  anxious  spirit  cheer'd. 

It  was  the  Priesthood— he  who  holds  the  key 

T'  unlock  the  portals  of  Eternity; 

And  with  o'erflowing  heart,  I  took  my  seat, 

An  enter'd  student  at  th'  Instructor's  feet. 

"  What  would'st  thou  me?  "    The  seraph  gently  said: 
"  Tell  me,  and  wherefore  hast  thou  sought  my  aid?  " 

I  then  replied:  Long,  long  I've  wish'd  to  know 
What  is  the  cause  of  surf'ring  here  below — 
What  the  result  of  human  life  will  be- 
lts ultimatum  in  Eternity. 


POEMS. 


With  deep,  attentive  mind — with  list'ning  ear, 

I  watch 'd  and  waited  ev'ry  word  to  hear; 

As  thus  he  said:     'Tis  not  for  you  to  pry 

Into  the  secrets  of  the  worlds  on  high — 

To  seek  to  know  the  first,  the  moving  Cause, 

Councils,  decrees,  organizations,  laws — 

Form'd  by  the  Gods,  pertaining  to  this  earth, 

Ere  your  great  Father  from  their  courts  came  forth, 

The  routine  of  his  ancestors  to  tread — 

Of  this  new  world,  to  stand  the  royal  head. 

The  more  immediate  cause  of  all  the  woe 
And  degradation  in  your  world  below, 
Is  disobedience:    Sorrow,  toil  and  pain, 
With  their  associates,  follow  in  its  train. 

This  Life's  an  ordeal,  and  design'd  to  prove 
Fraternal  kindness  and  parental  love. 
Earth  is  your  Father's  workshop:  What  is  done — 
All  that's  attain'd,  and  what  achievements  won, 
Is  for  the  Parents:  All  things  are  their  own — 
The  children  now  hold  nothing  but  by  loan. 
Whatever  some  may  claim  in  proud  pretense; 
No  one  has  yet  obtain'd  inheritance; 
E'en  Abraham  has  no  possession  gain'd 
Of  what  by  promise  he  thro'  faith  obtained: 
And  all  that  greedy  hands  accumulate, 
Is  yet  the  Father's,  not  the  child's  estate. 
Then  shame,  O  shame,  on  all  the  strife  you  see 
Here  in  the  cradle  of  life's  nursery — 
The  green-ey'd  jealousies — the  frosty  hate 
Which  carnal,  avaricious  thoughts  create! 


POEMS. 


How  vain  that  phantom  of  mortality, 

The  mimic-form  of  human  dignity! 

'Tis  soon  enough  for  infant  lips  to  talk 

Of    pow'r  and  greatness,   when  they've  strength   to 

walk — 
'Tis  soon  enough  for  children  to  be  great, 
When  they  can  boast  a  self -possess' d  estate. 

It  will  not  matter  whatsoe'er  is  gained, 
Or  what  on  earth  may  seem  to  be  obtained; 
But  'tis  important  that  each  one  prepare 
To  be  with  Christ,  a  joint,  an  equal  heir: 
Faith,  and  obedience,  and  integrity, 
Will  the  grand  test  of  future  heirship,  be. 
If  true  and  faithful  to  the  Father's  will, 
It  matters  not  what  station  here  you  rill ; 
As  you  prepare  yourself  on  earth,  will  be 
Your  place,  your  portion  in  eternity. 

As  disobedience  rill'd  the  world  with  pain, 
Obedience  will  restore  it  back  again. 
The  base  perversions  of  my  pow'r  produce 
All  the  strong  engines  satan  has  in  use; 
And  qualify  the  sons  of  men  to  dwell 
With  his  dark  majesty,  the  prince  of  hell. 
All  that  obey  the  pow'rs  of  darkness  go 
With  those  they  follow — to  the  world  below. 
Then  list  to  me — my  precepts  all  obey — 
The  Gods  have  sent  me  in  this  latter-day, 
Fully  commissioned  upward  all  to  lead, 
Who  will  my  counsels  and  instructions  heed — 


POEMS. 


Who  seek  in  ev'ry  circumstance  and  place, 

To  benefit  and  bless  the  human  race — 

Who  seek  their  Father's  interests  to  enhance — 

His  glorious  cause  upon  the  earth  advance: 

Whether  below,  they  much  or  little  claim, 

If  they  exalt  and  magnify  his  name; 

And  in  his  service  labor  faithfully, 

They'll  have  a  fullness  in  his  legacy. 

Each  faithful  saint  is  an  acknowledg'd  heir, 

And  as  his  diligence,  will  be  his  share, 

When  God  a  patrimony  shall  bestow 

Upon  his  sons  and  daughters  here  below. 

Adam,  your  God,  like  you  on  earth,  has  been 
Subject  to  sorrow  in  a  world  of  sin: 
Through  long  gradation  he  arose  to  be 
Cloth'd  with  the  Godhead's  might  and  majesty. 
And  what  to  him  in  his  probative  sphere, 
Whether  a  Bishop,  Beacon,  Priest,  or  Seer? 
Whate'er  his  offices  and  callings  were, 
Tie  magnified  them  with  assiduous  care: 
By  his  obedience  he  obtain'd  the  place 
Of  God  and  Father  of  this  human  race. 

Obedience  will  the  same  bright  garland  weave, 
As  it  has  done  for  your  great  Mother,  Eve, 
For  all  her  daughters  on  the  earth,  who  will 
All  my  requirements  sacredly  fulfill. 
And  what  to  Eve,  though  in  her  mortal  life, 
She'd  been  the  first,  the  tenth,  or  fiftieth  wife? 
What  did  she  care,  when  in  her  lowest  state, 
Whether  by  fools,  consider'd  small,  or  great? 


POEMS. 


'Twas  all  the  same  with  her— she  prov'd  her  worth- 
She's  now  the  Goddess  and  the  Queen  of  Earth. 

Tiife's  ultimatum,  unto  those  that  live 
As  saints  of  God,  and  all  my  pow'rs  receive; 
Is  still  the  onward,  upward  course  to  tread- 
To  stand  as  Adam  and  as  Eve,  the  head 
Of  an  inheritance,  a  new-form'd  earth, 
And  to  their  spirit-race,  give  mortal  birth- 
Give  them  experience  in  a  world  like  this; 
Then  lead  them  forth  to  everlasting  bliss, 
Crown'd  with  salvation  and  eternal  joy- 
Where  full  perfection  dwells,  without  alloy. 

Thus  said  the  Seraph.— Sacred  in  my  heart 

I  cherish  all  his  precious  words  impart; 

And  humbly  pray,  I  ever  may,  as  now, 

With  holy  def'rence  in  his  presence  bow, 

The  field  of  thought  he  qpen'd  to  my  view, 

My  wonder  rous'd — my  admiration  too: 

I  marvel 'd  at  the  silly  childishness 

Of  saints,  the  heirs  of  everlasting  bliss, 

The  candidates  for  Godheads  and  for  worlds, 

As  onward  time,  eternities  unfurls. 

I  felt  my  littleness,  and  thought,  henceforth 

I'll  be  myself,  the  humblest  saint  on  earth; 

And  all  that  God  shall  to  my  care  assign, 

I'll  recognize  and  use  as  his,  not  mine. 

Wherever  he  appoints  to  me  a  place, 

That  will  I  seek,  with  diligence,  to  grace; 

And  for  my  Parents,  whatsoe'er  my  lot, 

To  work  with  all  my  might,  and  murmur  not, 


10  POEMS. 


I'll  seek  their  interest,  till  they  send  or  come, 
And  as  a  faithful  daughter  take  me  home. 


Lg,< 


As  thus  I  mus'd,  the  lovely  queen  of  night, 
'Neath  heav'n's  blue  canopy,  diffus'd  her  light: 
Still  brighter  beams  o'er  earth's  horizon  play — 
A  cheering  prelude  to  approaching  day, 
When  truth's  full  glory  will  o'erspread  the  skies, 
And  the  bright  "Sun  of  Righteousness"  arise. 


THE  PAST  YEAK. 


A  Year!    What  is  a  Year?     'Tis  but  a  link 
In  the  grand  chain  of  Time,  extending  from 
The  earth's  formation,  to  the  period  when 
An  angel  standing  in  the  sun,  shall  swear 
'The  chain  is  finish'd— Time  shall  be  no  more.' 
Then,  by  the  pow'r  of  faith,  that  pow'r  by  which 
The  great  Jehovah  spake  and  it  was  done, 
And  nature  mov'd  subservient  to  his  will; 
Earth  leaves  the  orbit  where  her  days  and  nights 
And  years  and  ages,  have  been  measur'd  long, 
By  revolution's  fix'd,  unchanging  laws, 
And  upward  journies  to  her  native  home. 


POEMS.  11 


Where  is  the  Year?    Envelop'd  in  the  past, 
With  all  its  scenes  and  all  its  sceneries 
Upon  its  bosom  laid.    The  Year  has  gone 
To  join  in  fellowship  with  all  the  years 
Before  and  since  the  flood:  leaving  behind 
A  train  of  consequences — those  effects, 
Which,  like  a  fond,  paternal  legacy 
That  firmly  binds  wTith  int'rest,  kin  to  kin; 
Unite  the  future,  present,  and  the  past. 

The  Year  is  gone.    None  but  Omnipotence 

Can  weigh  it  in  the  balance,  and  define 

The  good  and  evil  mingled  in  its  form. 

None  but  an  Omnipresent  eye  can  view 

The  fountains  and  the  springs  of  joy  and  grief  - 

Of  pain  and  pleasure,  which,  within  its  course, 

It  open'd  up  and  caus'd  to  flow  thro'out 

The  broad  variety  of  human  life. 

None  else  is  able  to  explore  the  length 

And  breadth — to  fathom  the  abysses,  and 

To  pry  into  the  cloister'd  avenues 

Of  this  life's  sceneries,  and  testify, 

Or  count  the  seeds  of  bitterness  which  yield 

Baneful  effluvia;  proving  when  infus'd 

Into  society,  its  deadliest  curse: 

Or  number  the  bright  rays  of  happiness, 

Whether  in  sunbeams  written,  or  defin'd 

By  those  soft,  mellow  pencilings  of  light, 

Whose  lack  of  dazzling  brilliancy,  is  more 

Than  compensated  by  their  constancy 

In  ev'ry-day  attendance:  little  joys, 

Which  shed  a  soothing  influence  on  the  heart, 


POEMS. 


Yet  imperceptibly— by  habit  made  to  seem 
More  like  appendages,  than  gifts  bestow'd. 

But  who,  with  common-sense,  and  eye  unclos'd- 

With  sensibility  enough  to  keep 

The  heart  alive — with  warmth  enough  to  give 

An  elasticity  to  half  its  strings; 

But  finds  inscrib'd  upon  the  tablet  of 

The  memory,  a  reminiscence  of 

The  Year  departed,  deeply  written  there 

In  characters  that  stand  in  bold  relief; 

And  more  especially  in  these  last  days, 

When  Nature,  seeming  conscious  that  her  time 

Of  dissolution  is  approaching,  hastes 

With  all  the  rude  impetuosity 

Of  the  tumultuous  hurricane;  to  close 

Her  labors. 

Ev'ry  spirit  is  arous'd, 
Both  good  and  bad — each  to  its  handy  work; 
Diffusing  in  the  walks  of  social  life, 
Their  honey  and  their  gall:  Each  heart  imbibes 
That  which  is  most  congenial  to  its  own 
Inherent  qualities  of  character; 
Of  which  a  full  development  is  wrought 
By  the  effective  hand  of  circumstance. 

A  few  more  years  of  hurried  scenery 

Will  tell  the  tale — the  present  drama  close — 

Decide  the  destiny  of  multitudes, 

And  bring  this  generation  to  the  point 

Where  Time,  extending  to  its  utmoust  bound, 

Will  tread  the  threshhold  of  Eternity. 


POEMS.  13 


"WHATEVER  IS,  IS  RIGHT." 


Whatever  is,  is  right;  but  then, 

All  axioms  receiv'd, 
Require  some  certain  principles 

On  which  to  be  belie v'd. 

With  good  and  evil — right  and  wrong, 

This  present  world  is  rife — 
Right  is  not  wrong — wrong  is  not  right, 

In  any  form  of  life. 
If  there  are  given  rules  by  which 

Good  is  from  evil  made; 
'Tis  well  for  ev'ry  saint  of  God 

To  understand  the  trade. 
To  all  who  love,  and  practice  wrong, 

Wrong  is  forever  wrong; 
While  unto  those  who  practice  right, 

Right  will  be  right  as  long: 
But  ev'ry  wrong  will  be  o'erruled, 

Resulting  for  the  best 
To  those  who  in  life's  furnaces 

Stand  ev'ry  trying  test. 

Had  not  Missouri,  in  her  spite 

And  hatred,  driv'n  us  forth; 
The  sound  of  truth  would  not  have  spread 

So  widely  o'er  the  earth. 


14  POEMS. 


When  in  Nauvoo,  we  were  beset 

With  foes  on  ev'ry  side — 
The  church  was  grievously  opprest — 

Our  Prophet  crucified! 
Surrounded  by  a  murd'rous  brood 

Nurs'd  in  corruption's  nest, 
The  vilest  offspring  of  the  vile 

Of  satan's  soul  possess'd: 
In  spite  of  all  their  hatefulness, 

Diffusing  death  and  thrall; 
We,  clinging  to  our  rightful  homes — 

Our  lands — our  earthly  all; 
Might  have  remain'd,  and  struggled  on:- 

They  thrust  us  out — we  come 
And  found  a  peaceful  resting  place 

In  this  wild  mountain  home. 
To  those  that  play'd  a  treacherous  part, 

That  is  an  evil  day; 
And  they  and  theirs  will  feel  the  smart 

When  time  has  pass'd  away. 

We've  here  a  better  Government, 

And  more  of  safety  too, 
Than  we  experienc'd  in  our  own, 

Once  beautiful  Nauvoo. 
I  Thus  God  will  use  the  wickedness 

And  all  the  wrath  of  man, 
To  magnify  his  holy  name, 

And  execute  his  plans: 
All  evil  purposes  and  schemes, 

His  wisdom  will  o'errule; 


POEMS.  15 


And  make  of  each  of  satan's  imps, 

Though  vile,  a  useful  tool. 
For  fancy  work  and  finishings, 

The  polish 'd  tools  will  do; 
But  God  wants  sledges,  threshing-flails, 

And  battle-axes  too. 
And  when  we  love  and  do  his  will 

With  all  our  mind  and  might; 
The  lamp  of  life,  his  spirit's  glow, 

Will  show  that  all  is  right — 
That  ev'ry  suffering— ev'ry  ill, 

And  all  the  foes  we  meet, 
Will  serve  our  interest  in  the  end, 

To  make  our  joys  complete. 
Offences  must  needs  come,  'tis  said; 

We  also  further  know, 
There  is  on  them  by  whom  they  come, 

Pronounc'd  a  fearful  woe. 

If  we  are  cloth 'd  with  innocence, 

And  to  our  cov'nantstrue; 
What  though  we  suffer  for  the  wrongs 

The  evil-minded  do? 
The  time  will  surely  come,  when  those 

Who've  cheated  in  life's  play; 
Will  find  they  shake  an  empty  purse, 

And  yet  the  Bill  to  pay.J 

Whene'er  we  feel  chastisement's  rod 
For  wrongs  ourselves  have  done; 

We're  taught  our  conduct  to  improve 
And  future  ills  to  shun; 


16  POEMS. 

As  if  the  shades  of  darkness  were 

Converted  into  light; 
Through  reformation's  handy  work, 

Wrong  may  conduce  to  right. 
For  here,  had  plenty's  ceaseless  board, 

Without  a  care,  been  spread; 
Who  would  have  own'd  the  Giver's  hand, 

Or  known  the  worth  of  bread? 
How  many  would,  as  saviors,  here 

With  wheat  their  garners  stor'd, 
Ere  famine's  cup  of  bitterness 

Is  on  the  nations  pour'd? 
But  when  pale  hunger's  meagre  hand 

Is  on  the  stomach  laid: 
The  blind  discern  the  pencil-lines 

By  wisdom's  finger  made. 

Our  father  Adam  broke  the  law 

His  father  gave,  and  thus 
That  blind-fold  thing,  degeneracy, 

Has  travel'd  down  to  us. 

The  Savior's  pity  mov'd: — he  came — 

Up  to  the  courts  of  day, 
While  all  the  troops  of  darkness  storm 'd, 

He  stoop'd  to  mark  the  way: 
And  through  the  curse,  with  all  its  ills — 

With  death  and  sorrow  rife; 
He  grants  to  those  who  follow  him, 

The  pow'rs  of  endless  life: 
And  he  has  given  a  perfect  law — 

When  walking  in  its  light; 


TOEMS. 


As  saints  of  God,  we  understand, 
Whatever  is,  is  right. 

That  dark,  dark  cloud  call'd  ignorance. 

Which  veils  the  human  mind: 
Has  clogg'd  the  springs  of  common  sense. 

And  press'd  the  judgment  blind. 
He,  who  calls  forth  the  light  of  day 

From  crude,  commingling  gloom, 
And  bright  celestial  rolling  spheres, 

From  chaos'  op'ning  womb — 
Who  built  the  pillars  of  the  sky— 

Who  counts  the  hosts  of  heav'n; 
Holds  ev'ry  key  and  instrument, 

By  which  results  are  giv'n. 

When  we,  through  fear  of  coming  ill, 

His  providence  distrust; 
We  sit  in  judgment  on  his  hand, 

And  deem  his  ways  unjust. 
Should  aught  exist,  from  which  his  skill 

Can  nothing  good  produce; 
That  is  a  wrong  without  a  right— 

A  thing  without  a  use: 
But  who  indulge  the  thought?    And  who, 

Would  impudently  dare 
Impeach  the  high  imperial  court, 

Or  charge  a  failure  there  ? 

Altho'  the  links  are  intricate — 

Though  long  may  be  the  chain- 
Though  Gordian  knots  with  us  occur; 
With  God  all  things  are  plain. 


18  POEMS. 


'Tis  not  for  us  to  rule  the  storm, 

OrZion's  bark  to  steer: 
With  our  own  duties  well  perform 'd, 

We've  nothing  more  to  fear: 
What  should  we  fear?    Who  guides  the  ship? 

None  but  Eternal  Might: 
Father  himself  is  at  the  helm: 

Whatever  is,  is  right 


MY  BANKRUPT  BILL. 


I  know,  some  critics  have  pronounc'd  it  weak 
Of  one's  own  self,  to  freely  write  or  speak. 

I  court  no  critic's  censure,  yet  I  will 
Take,  for  my  subject,  my  own  bankrupt  Bill. 
To  have  no  money,  surely  is  no  crime, 
But  I  contracted  debt,  without  a  dime; 
Which,  I  acknowledge  frankly,  should  not  be, 
And  I'll  henceforth  avoid  insolvency. 

'Neath  the  perverted  scepter  Mammon  wields, 
Virtue  and  truth,  to  gold's  base  influence  yield: 
Men  are  respected  if  in  gold  they're  wealthy, 
Whether  they  gain'd  it  honestly  or  stealthy. 

Not  so  in  Zion— works,  and  faith  sincere 
Preponderate  o'er  filthy  lucre  here: 


POEMS.  19 


Unyielding  virtue,  firm  integrity, 

Love  for  the  Priesthood,  careful  industry, 

In  the  true  Mint  of  heav'n,  will  pass  for  more 

Than  all  on  earth  that's  coined  from  shining  ore. 

'Tis  true,  we  all  may  many  wants  endure, 
But  then,  a  saint  of  God  is  never  poor; 
One  in  whose  soul  the  holy  fire  of  God, 
The  light  of  truth,  is  richly  shed  abroad. 

What  though  he  cannot  claim  one  foot  of  land, 
Nor  yet  one  dime  of  currency  command? 
Altho'  no  gold  and  silver — he  has  got 
A  costly  pearl,  the  purse-proud  world  has  not. 

The  peace  of  God  abiding  in  the  breast — 
The  heav'nly  foretaste  of  a  glorious  rest, 
With  pow'r,  the  gift  of  endless  lives,  to  gain- 
Henceforth  our  own  identity  retain, 
Is  wealth,  and  wealth  that  holds  a  promise,  rife 
With  every  comfort  that  pertains  to  life. 

That  very  gold  the  gentiles  madly  crave 
Will  yet,  our  streets,  the  streets  of  Zion,  pave. 

Why  should  we  then,  call  gold  and  silver  wealth? 
We  might  as  well,  call  food  and  clothing  health; 
Brain,  bone  and  sinew,  here,  are  prov'd  to  be 
Both  capital  and  lawful  currency. 
Be  as  it  may  be  elsewhere,  here,  with  us, 
Worth  is  not  reckon'd  by  the  weight  of  purse: 
In  Babylon,  where  money  is  the  test, 
He  who  has  most,  is  honor'd  as  the  best, 
Or,  rather  he  who  vainly  seems  to  have, 
And  oft,  he's  honor'd  most,  who's  most  a  knave. 


20  POEMS. 


Show  me  a  saint  that's  poor  and,  once  for  all, 
I'll  show  you  one  that  is  no  saint  at  all; 
He  may  be  moneyless — Who  has  not  been? 
That,  here,  is  neither  poverty  nor  sin. 
Leanness  of  soul  and  meagerness  of  thought — 
A  cherish 'd  barrenness  of  mind,  is  what 
I  should  call  poverty,  and  even  worse 
Than  Mammon's  voL'ries  think  an  empty  purse. 

Methinks  I  hear  one  softly  whisper,  'Hush! 
To  say  you  have  no  money,  makes  me  blush,' 
I  have  no  money:  blush  again.     With  me 
That  kind  of  blushing  is  hypocrisy. 
Crime,  wickedness  and  folly  bring  disgrace— 
For  these,  should  blushes  mantle  o'er  the  face; 
And  many,  many  things  affright  me  worse 
Than  the  appearance  of  an  empty  purse. 

I  boast  of  wealth,  and  richer  streams  than  flow 
From  the  most  fruitful  sources  here  below. 
'Tis  not  the  wealth  that  stimulates  with  pride — 
'Tis  wealth  that  will  eternally  abide: 
If  I  in  faithfulness  and  patience  wait, 
I'll  hold  an  heirship  in  a  God's  estate; 
And  even  now,  I'm  richer,  wealthier  far, 
Than  all  who  bend  o'er  Mammon's  coffers,  are. 

Who  are  my  friends?  Those  are  my  friends,  I  trust, 
Whom  I  esteem  wise,  noble,  good  and  just; 
As  such,  each  one,  I  estimate  a  treasure: 
In  friendship  then  I'm  rich,  in  ample  measure. 


POEMS.  21 

Who  are  my  kindred?    All  the  truly  good 
Who've  in  the  holy  cov'nants,  faithful  stood; 
My  kindred  then  are  of  the  royal  line. 
And  each  can  claim  an  origin  divine. 

Who  is  my  Brother?    Israel's  Holy  One- 
According  to  the  flesh,  God's  only  Son: 
He  holds  the  birth-right  in  eternity — 
Thro'  Him  the  heirship  will  descend  to  me. 

My  Father's  rich — I  am  his  lawful  child; 
Not  one  by  silly,  fond  caressing,  spoil'd; 
I've  through  bereavement — not  indulgence,  grown 
In  strength,  (tho'  woman  never  stands  alone.) 

Who  is  my  Father?    One  that's  wise  and  great, 
A  millionare  of  well  possessed  estate. 
Who  is  my  Father?    Does  he  dwell  below?  . 
Is  he  a  worldly  potentate?    O  no: 
All  earthly  things  must  perish — crowTns  will  rust, 
While  thrones  and  monarchs  moulder  into  dust. 
Who  is  my  Father?    Endless  is  His  name- 
He  is  the  Eternal  God,  the  Great  I  AM. 

And  in  conclusion,  I  am  fain  to  say, 
Create  no  bills  beyond  your  means  to  pay; 
To  live  within  your  income  thus,  will  spare 
You  many  a  festering  thought  and  servile  care. 
And  to  the  young,  I'll  give  a  key,  whereby, 
All  future  wants  and  wishes,  to  supply. 
Control  yourselves — your  passions  well  restrain — 
Scorn  to  want  every  thing  you  can't  obtain, 


22  POEMS. 


Then  ask  no  odds  of  circumstances— be 

Faithful  in  duties,  and  in  feelings,  free. 

You'll  thus  create  your  heav'ns  where'er  you  dwell 

"  To  want  to  be,  or  do,  and  can't,  is  hell." 

Prov'd  or  not  prov'd,  this  axiom  is  sure — 
A  real  saint  of  God  is  never  poor. 


CONTRAST. 


The  storm  is  past:  all  nature  is  serene: 
How  clear  the  sunshine,  and  how  calm  the  scene! 

The  hurricane  is  over:  soft  and  low 
As  music's  whisper,  gentle  zephyrs  blow: 
The  tuneful  songsters  chant  their  joyous  lay, 
And  rose-cheek'd  cherubs  on  the  terrace  play. 

The  cataract  has  ceased,  and  all  is  still, 
Save  the  low  murmur  of  the  purling  rill. 

The  earthquake  past  that  threaten 'd  to  destroy; 
Each  bosom  swells  with  gratitude  and  joy. 
The  angry  waves  recede:  along  the  shore 
Sweet  bugle  notes  chime  with  the  boatman's  oar. 

When  raging  wars,  their  fierce  dread  clamor,  cease, 
How  grateful  comes  the  gentle  voice  of  peace. 

To  vet 'ran  warriors  from  the  battlefield, 
What  sacred  pleasures  home  and  fireside  yield. 


POEMS.  23 


Turmoil  and  labor,  relish  give  to  rest, 
And  make  retirement  oft  a  rich  behest; 
And  after  wild  confusion  takes  a  fill, 
Sweet  harmony  seems  more  harmonious  still. 

Much,  much  is  learned   by  contrast.     Who  would 
know 
To  prize  a  friend,  who  never  had  a  foe? 
Without  the  wrong,  who  could  adjudge  the  right? 
Without  the  darkness,  how  distinguish  light? 
Without  the  bitter,  who  would  relish  sweet? 
If  friends  ne'er  parted,  say  if  friends  could  meet. 
We  learn  in  sickness  how  to  value  health — 
Through  poverty,  the  benefits  of  wealth. 
How  better  prove  pure  wheat  than  to  compare 
The  genuine  kernel  with  the  spurious  tare? 

The  school  of  God  impresses  lessons  well: 
In  which  the  students  learn  to  read  and  spell — 
Learn  how  to  appreciate  all  and  ev'ry  good, 
As  hunger  gives  an  appetite  for  food. 

Ask  Israel's  Elders  who  go  forth  to  preach, 
To  all — to  every  nation,  grade  and  speech: 
When  far  from  all  on  earth  you  dearly  prize — 
Far,  far  from  home  and  all  its  tender  ties — 
Exposed  to  hatred,  malice,  scoff  and  scorn, 
Where  vice  is  nourished  and  tradition  born— 
Where  sin,  contagious  with  the  blight  of  death, 
Enters  the  life-blood  and  pollutes  the  breath! 
Strange,  among  strangers,  and  at  times,  unblest 
With  shelter,  food  or  drink  or  where  to  rest, 


24  POEMS. 


Then  there — altho'  to  your  high  callings  true; 
You  think  of  home:  you  learn  to  prize  it  too. 

All  things  existing,  will  to  good  conduce, 
When  well  applied,  and  to  their  proper  use, 
And  all  subserve  our  profit,  when  we  know 
Their  adaption — what,  ivhcn,  where  and  how. 

We're  here  to  learn — to  suffer  and  to  rise: 
Without  experience  Gods  would  be  unwise. 


IMMORTALITY, 


Yes  Immortality:  That  bosom  word, 
To  me,  has  inspiration  in  it.    Love 
Of  life,  is  innate  in  the  human  soul: 
'Tis  interwoven  in  our  natures.     'Twas 
Decreed  in  the  grand  council  of  the  Gods, 
When  canvassing  the  great  eternal  scheme 
Cencerning  destinies  of  man  and  earth ; 
That  mankind  should  inherit  love  of  life; 
Else,  man,  grown  weary  of  a  woild  of  woes 
And  fickle  tides  of  happiness,  would  haste 
To  make  his  exit,  and  e'en  God  Himself 
Had  fail'd  to  keep  enough,  as  instruments, 
On  earth,  to  execute  His  purposes. 


POEMS.  25 


Thus  death,  the  happy  counterpoise  to  life, 
Has  long  been  branded  with  fell  hideousness — 
False-styled  uthe  king  of  terrrors,"  "monster,  fiend," 
"Insatiate  archer"  and  whole  catalogues 
Of  horrid  names;  to  form  a  barrier 
Of  fear,  lest  man,  with  suicidal  hand, 
Should  clip  the  brittle  thread  of  life,  and  rush 
In  multitudes,  into  eternity. 

"Christ  came,  them  to  redeem,  who,  thro'  the  fear 
Of  death,  were  all  their  life  time  subject  to 
Its  bondage."    To  the  faithful  Saints  of  God, 
Who  live  to  do  His  will,  death  has  no  sting: 
'Tis  a  kind  porter  to  conduct  us  where 
A  realm  of  light  and  beauty  shines  around — 
A  world  of  glorious  Immortality! 
A  world?    Yes  worlds  of  vast  immensity. 
And  what  of  us?    We'll  be  our  very  selves, 
Free  from  all  imperfections  consequent 
Upon  the  curse,  entailed  thro'  Adam's  fall: 
T'  enjoy  life's  sweet  associations,  such 
As  parents,  children,  husbands,  wives  and  friends — 
With  Gods  and  Goddesses — with  the  noblesse 
Of  all  eternities;  and  freely  bask 
In  full,  bright  sunbeams  of  intelligence, 
With  legal  access  to  its  mighty  fount — 
A  life  divested  of  mortality, 
Yet  life  as  real  as  existence  here. 

I've  had  a  taste  of  mortal  suffering: 
I've  seen  my  fellows  drink  its  cup  fill?d  to 
The  brim  and  running  o'er,  until  the  pulse 


26  POEMS. 


Of  life  was  clogg'd  in  every  wheel — until 

Nature's  deep  agonies  outweigh 'd  the  love 

Of  life,  and  yet  the  throbbing  pulse  beat  on. 

But  thanks  to  God,  there  is  an  end  decreed 

To  human  sorrow,  pain  and  misery. 

I  aim — I  live  for  immortality, 

Life,  knowledge,  bliss,  without  one  stopping  point. 

A  thought  that  I  should  ever  cease  to  be, 
Would  paralize  all  other  thoughts — 'twould  dim 
The  brightest  beams  of  joy,  and  would  crush  out 
Each  holy  aspiration  of  the  heart — 
Eradicate  that  precious  organ,  hope- 
Embargo  enterprize,  and  dry  up  all 
The  tributary  streams  of  happiness. 

There's  nothing  short  of  Immortality, 
Can  satisfy  the  earnest  cravings  of 
That  spark  of  pure  divinity,  which  God 
Implanted,  as  the  fine,  constituent  part 
Of  beings,  organized  with  attributes 
Like  His — the  germ  of  an  eternal  life. 

Crown  of  all  wisdom,  sum  of  good  to  man, 
Scheme  of  the  Gods,  redemption's  glorious  plan; 
This,  through  the  resurrection's  power  combines 
Immortal  bodies  and  immortal  minds. 


POEMS.  27 


CONFIDENCE. 


Has  earth  to  boast,  a  fairer,  brighter  gem, 
A  gem  of  greater  worth,  than  confidence? 

It  is  a  pearly  diadem  in  all 
Of  life's  associations;  and  the  base 
Of  expectation  and  of  future  hope — 
A  source,  a  pedestal  of  happiness 
Below,  and  the  assurance  which  we  feel 
Of  a  fruition  in  the  world  above. 

If  not  a  balance  to  determine  weights, 
It  constitutes  the  weight — the  size — the  length 
And  breadth,  and  the  importance  of  each  look — 
Each  word,  and  every  act  of  those  with  whom 
In  life,  we  have  to  do. 

•  Where'er  it  reigns 
Predominant,  there  love  and  freedom  dwell; 
And  union  too,  has  an  abiding  place; 
And  there  the  beating  heart,  charm 'd  with  its  own 
Security,  pours  all  its  contents  out; 
And  thought  with  thought — feeling  with  feeling,  finds 
Reciprocation  constant,  full  and  free: 
And  there,  as  if  upon  an  easy  couch 
Reclin'd;  the  spirit  rests  itself  from  all 
Distrust  and  jealousy;  in  sweet  repose. 


28  POEMS. 


And  yet,  with  all  its  virtues — all  its  worth, 
How  often  lightly  priz'd — how  cheaply  sold! 
What!    Sold?    No:  never.    Confidence  is  not 
A  thing  of  traffic,  and  as  tenements — 
As  goods  and  chattels  sold — like  them  transfer' d 
Unto  the  purchaser,  and  thus  obtain'd 
By  stipulation,  as  a  currency. 

It  oft  is  sacrific'd — 'Tis  offer'd  up 
On  base,  unholy  altars — at  the  shrine 
Of  one  or  more  of  all  the  passions  of 
Degenerate  nature  in  our  fallen  state. 
Whoe'er  performs  the  act,  the  offering; 
Upon  the  altar  places,  that  which  is 
Another's  property,  and  not  his  own. 

'Tis  worse  than  common  theft  and  robbery— 
'Tis  wanton  sacrilege— 'tis  burglary, 
For  friend  to  trespass  on  the  bosom  of 
A  friend,  and  tear  from  the  possessor,,,  that 
Inestimable  jewel.    Sooner  far, 
Than  I  would  have  my  confidence  in  those 
I  dearly  love,  eradicated,  I 
Would  have  my  purse — my  gold — my  jewelry, 
And  all  that  kind  of  substance,  torn  away 
By  the  usurper.     Gold  and  silver  may, 
If  not  recover'd,  have  its  place  supplied, 
And  full  remuneration  made  for  all 
And  ev'ry  loss.    Not  so  with  confidence; 
That  has  no  substitute— no  agency; 
Naught  but  itself  officiates  for  itself. 


POEMS.  29 

Let  once  the  pillars  which  support  its  throne 
Be  torn  asunder — its  foundation  be 
Destroy 'd  or  shaken;  and  it  will  almost 
Transcend  the  pow'rs  of  possibility, 
Again  its  own  primeval  beauty  to  restore; 
But  yet  when  its  destruction  is  the  work 
Of  stealth,  by  foul  incendiary,  who, 
With  evil  purpose,!!serpentinely  coils 
Around,  and  with  a  deadly,  pois'nous  shaft; 
Infusing  canker  in  the  citadel; 
Annihilates  its  fair,  supernal  form; 
When  changing  circumstances  shall  the  wretch 
Expose,  he  has  the  forfeiture  to  pay; 
And  confidence,  with  all  its  former  pow'rs 
Restor'd,  returns  and  fills  its  rightful  throne. 

Saints,  with  each  other,  should  pursue  a  course 
That  will  create,  establish,  and  preserve; 
With  care  assiduously  cherishing, 
Each  in  the  other's  bosom,  confidence. 

Warm'd  by  the  moving  pulses  of  the  heart, 
The  law  of  kindness  flowing  from  the  tongue, 
Bearing  the  image  of  the  inmost  thought; 
Should  constitute  the  fulcrum  of  control. 
Each  word  should  be  its  own  expositor — 
Each  look — each  action  should  be  stereotyp'd 
With  the  firm  impress  of  unchanging  truth. 

Sweeter  to  me,'  than  honey  in  the  comb, 
Is  the  communion  of  congenial  minds, 
Of  noble  texture  and  of  sentiment 


30  POEMS. 


Exalted  and  refin'd;  where  confidence 
Is  full — is  perfect — is  by  time  matur'd, 
And  tested  by  conflicting  circumstance. 
It  is  a  plant  of  slow,  delib'rate  growth, 
When  to  perfection  it  attains  in  form, 
In  feature  and  in  durability ; 
And  tho'  untiring  care  is  requisite 
In  planting  and  in  cultivation  too; 
Its  grateful  service  will  the  toil  repay. 

It  is  a  stretch  of  science  in  this  low, 
Perverted  age,  to  learn  t'  appreciate 
Whate'er  of  confidence  is  worth  our  aim. 

What  God  approves,  I  love.     The  confidence 
Of  those,  within  whose  bosoms,  richly  dwells, 
His  holy  Spirit— those  whose  hearts  are  warm 
With  the  sweet  influence  of  celestial  love, 
And  thrill  with  Inspiration's  sacred  fire — 
Whose  minds,  with  the  intelligence  of  heav'n's 
Eternal  truths,  abundantly  are  stor'd — 
Whose  labor  is  for  Zion,  and  whose  aim 
Is  the  salvation  of  the  human  race; 
I  say,  the  confidence  of  such,  is  that 
I  crave;  I  also  crave,  and  while  I  crave, 
By  merit  I  would  seek,  the  confidence 
Of  pure  intelligences,  unbeheld 
By  the  gross  vision  of  mortality: 
Who,  tho'  unseen,  and  tho'  unheard  by  the 
Exterior  senses;  watch  around,  and  oft, 
In  sweet,  low  whisperings  communicate 
Unto  our  understandings;  or  impart 


POEMS.  31 


The  thrilling  influence  of  prophetic  tire: 

Whose  sensibility,  acutely  fine, 

Precludes  their  free  approach  where  evil  thoughts 

Or  evil  practices  contaminate 

The  halo  of  the  moral  atmosphere, 

With  which,  self-forming,  each,  ourselves  surround. 

Soothing  as  balmy,  evening  zephyrs — sweet 
As  orient  fragrant  spicy  gales — grateful 
As  honey  dews  upon  the  smiling  lawn, 
Is  confidence  'twixt  friend  and  friend,  on  earth: 
But  when  its  own  bright  radius  upward  points; 
And  when  it  permanently  concentrates 
Its  firm  undeviating  hold  upon 
The  truth  of  God — the  revelations  of 
His  will  to  man  in  these  the  latter-days; 
Prompting  obedience  to  the  precepts  taught; 
It  is  the  magnet  of  salvation  here, 
And  leads  instinctively  unto  the  fount 
Of  everlasting  peace  and  happiness: 
It  leads  its  own  possessor  to  the  tree 
Of  Life — to  habitations  made  with  hands 
That  are  immortal— to  the  courts  on  high, 
Where,  crown'd  with  majesty,  in  glory  dwell 
Jesus,  our  Brother,  and  our  Father,  God. 


32  POEMS. 


THE  GRAND  CONQUEST. 


Time,  in  a  tour  of  near  six  thousand  years, 
Has  register 'd  things  of  tall  note. 

When  Earth 
Receiv'd  the  fulness  of  its  measure  from 
Th'  Almighty's  great  creative  hand;  he  saw 
Her  wedded,  and  in  Godlike  harmony 
Associated  with  the  countless  spheres 
Which  form  the  mighty  Universe,    Her  place, 
Her  orbit  was  defin'd:  moving  therein, 
Thus  far,  her  own  creation's  law  fulfill'd. 

He  saw  chaotic  elements  control 'd — 
The  firm  of  light  and  darkness  broken  up, 
And  day  and  night  alternately  succeed. 

He  saw  the  curse  with  all  its  woe,  entail 'd 
On* Adam's  profligate,  degen'rate  sons. 

He  saw  the  great  immersion  of  the  world, 
Washing  away  the  disobedient  race, 
Which  had  extended  o'er  the  face  of  Earth, 
Like  clouds:  and  had  eclips'd  her  loveliness. 

He's  seen  huge  empires  creeping  from  the  gulph 
Of  non-existence;  and  assume  the  right 


POEMS.  33 

Of  being  and  forever  more  to  be: 

Then,  by  a  lingering  gaze  from  his  stern  brow; 

In  terrible  convulsions  die  away. 

Nations  awaken'd  by  the  noble  charms 

Of  virtue;  he  has  seen  arise  in  pomp 

And  haughty  grandeur,  and  unconsciously, 

By  syren  voices,  lull'd  to  dead  repose. 

Tie's  seen  the  tallest,  proudest  monuments 
Of  human  art,  crumble  to  atom  dust, 
And  scatter  on  the  flying|winds  of  heav'n, 
Thro'  the  strange  magic  of  his  passing  breath. 

All  this: — And  he  has  not  beheld  a  scene — 
He  never  has  recorded  an  event 
More  strange — more  full  of  meaning,  or  more  deep 
With  interest — higher  in  majesty; 
And  none  so  big  with  future  consequence, 
As  the  Grand  Conquest  in  the  Middle  Age, 
On  which  the  fate  of  Dispensations  hung; 
When  heavn's  great  Champion  met  a  monster,  which, 
Four  thousand  years  of  fearful  slaughter,  fail'd 
To  slake  his  burning  thirst  for  human  gore  ! 
He'd  eaten  kings — demolish'd  cities,  and 
Evacuated  bolted  citadels — 
He'd  slain  ambition — blasted  beauty — scorn'd 
Affection's  pray'r,  and  mock'd  the  tears  of  love; 
And  fast  empannel'd  in  his  leaden  jaws, 
Held  ev'ry  victim  of  his  horrid  rage; 
And  even  dar'd  insultingly  to  face 
The  royal  fav'rite  of  the  majesty 
On  high. 


34  POEMS. 


The  conflict  closely  wag'd — and  Oh! 
The  noble  champion  fell!    The  monster  laugh'd- 
Heav'n  trembled — Nature  clos'd  her  tearless  eye 
In  frantic  agony!     But  lo!    The  Knight 
Was  only  leaning  on  the  monster's  breast, 
Better  to  reach  the  center  of  his  heart; 
And  then  arose  unharm'd,  and  bore  away 
The  quiv'ring  spirit  of  a  vanquish'd  foe. 

From  their  high  seats,  cherubic  hosts  arose, 
And  they  came  down  to  hail  him;  for  all  heav'n 
Waited  in  mute  solicitude,  to  see 
The  issue  of  the  great  momentous  scene. 

The  Son  of  God,  came  off  victorious:     , 
Honors  awaited  him,  and  he  was  borne, 
By  a  triumphal  escort,  through  the  skies, 
And  seated  high  upon  his  Father's  throne. 
The  mighty  Gabriel  with  his  noble  train, 
Essay 'd  to  worship  him;  and  bowing  down, 
With  ensigns  of  immortal  dignity; 
He  touch'd  a  chord — ten  thousand  harps  awoke. 
Hark!  hark!— An  echo  from  the  upper  heav'n. 

'Welcome,  welcome,  King  of  glory— 
Thou  hast  conquer 'd — thou  hast  won: 

The  heav'n  of  heav'ns  will  shout  the  story 
Of  the  deed  which  thou  hast  done — 
Welcome  to  the  highest  throne. 


Thou  art  he  who  stoop 'd  to  conquer- 
Thou  has  slain  the  ghastly  foe, 


POEMS.  35 


Whose  unhallow'd  rage  and  rancor 
Swell'd  the  tide  of  human  woe— 
Thou  hast  laid  his  spirit  low. 

Down  to  the  dregs,  thou  didst  not  shrink 
The  bitter  cup,  on  earth,  to  drink; 
And  hence  the  pow'rs  of  vict'ry  flow 
Unto  the  sons  of  men  below. 

Pow'r  and  dominion,  both  in  earth  and  heaven 
Are  thine,  and  to  thy  name  all  praise  be  given: 
We  feel  a  holy  pride  as  we  adore  thee, 
And  spread  our  crowns  and  royalties  before  thee. 

Glory  to  thee,  we  will  repeat 

And  bend  with  def 'rence  at  thy  feet, 

For  ev'ry  honor  is  thy  due 

'thou  King  of  Kings  and  conqueror  too.* 

Bow  down  to  Him,  ye  nations:    Shout,  ye  Saints, 
In  strains  of  high  intelligence;  and  through 
Obedience,  manifest  your  love  to  Him 
Who  spoil'd  your  spoiler;  now  that  you  can  look 
So  fearlessly  upon  pale,  conquered  Death. 


36  POEMS. 


NATIONALITY. 

Written   for,   and    read  before  an  Assembly    of    the 
"Polysophical  Association"  in  L.  Snow's 
Hall ,  Salt  Lake  City,  1855. 


Most  courteously,  this  evening,  I'll  present 
Before  this  Audience,  a  sentiment — 
At  least  a  hint,  on  Nationality, 
A  love,  or  rather  a  partiality 
For  birth-place,  country,  and  the  people  where 
Our  lunffs  at  first  inhale  the  vital  air. 


i,->' 


One  might  as  well  my  thoughts  exterminate — 
My  place  in  pedigree  annihilate, 
Or  the  warm  pulse  of  life  eradicate; 
As  to  efface  or  to  remove  from  me, 
The  sentiment  of  Nationality. 

It  of  my  nature  constitutes  a  part — 
Unites  with  all  the  life-blood  of  my  heart; 
And  if  no  trait  or  portion  of  my  spirit, 
'Tis  something  I  eternally  inherit. 

Not  all  the  charms  surrounding  scenes  impart, 
Can  chase  the  high-ton'd  feelings  from  my  heart; 
For  oft — full  oft,  so  tenderly  they  yearn, 
A  kindling  impulse  prompts  a  fond  return 
Unto  the  land  of  my  nativity — 
My  native  home — my  native  scenery. 


POEMS.  37 


But  where— O  where  the  land  so  choice— so  dear? 
Which  is  the  nation  I  so  much  revere? 

I  do  not  languish  for  the  lakes  and  rills — 
The  rugged  heights  of  Europe's  Alpine  hills — 
The  verdant  vales  which  beauteously  repose 
'Neath  their  bold  summits  of  eternal  snows; 
Nor  would  I  boast  a  proud  nativity 
On  the  luxuriant  plains  of  Italy, 
With  glowing,  sunny  landscapes,  rich  and  fair — 
Tall  city  spires,  and  grand  cathedrals  there; 
Where  the  salubrious  climate's  genial  heat 
Gives  to  the  pulse,  a  soft  and  ardent  beat; 
Where  nature  with  accelerated  force, 
With  less  of  time,  completes  her  wonted  course. 

Nor  yet  in  Germany,  where  laws  are  made 
To  fit  like  tenons  for  the  joiner's  trade — 
Where  ev'ry  code  of  civil  policy, 
Mocks  the  precision  of  Geometry — 
Where  ease  and  luxury  are  smiling  round, 
And  merry  glee  and  cheerfulness  abound : 
Where  summer  meadows  and  the  harvest  field, 
To  man  and  beast,  a  joyous  plenty  yield. 

Not  Britain,  with  its  mountains,  hills,  and  dales; 
Including  England,  Ireland,  Scotland,  Wales; 
With  inland  products  and  ship-crested  coast — 
Comprising  much  that  wealth  and  honor  boast: 
With  far-fam'd  Cities,  Towns,  and  Villas  too, 
Where  genius  nourish 'd  and  where  valor  grew: 


38  POEMS. 

With  all  varieties  of  grade  and  sphere 

Of  home,  sweet  home,  most  lovely  and  most  dear— 

The  honor'd  home  of  noble  thousands;  where 

Are  executed  with  judicious  care, 

Those  legal  pow'rs,  created  to  bestow 

Protection's  banner,  on  the  high  and  low; 

And  where  religious  toleration,  now, 

Above  all  elsewhere,  lifts  its  manly  brow. 

Not  Sweden,  Denmark,  Norway,  nor  in  France, 
Where  revolution's  onward  strides  advance, 
And  then  recede;  as  tides  that  ebb  and  now — 
As  moons  that  waxing,  waning,  onward  go, 
While  soft  refinement,  with  its  graceful  air, 
Displays  a  master-stroke  of  polish  there : 
Where  vinous  foliage,  native  fruits  and  rlow'rs 
Yie  with  exotics,  in  luxuriant  bow'rs. 

Neither  America's  much  favor 'd  land, 
Where  Lehi,  guided  by  Jehovah's  hand, 
Obtain'd  a  place  for  him  and  his  to  be 
Thro'  generations  of  posterity. 

Where  those  choice  records— where  the  truth  was  found, 
As  said  Isaiah,  "speaking  from  the  ground." 

Not  coasts,  nor  capes,  nor  Islands  of  the  sea: 
For  none  I  cherish  fond  partiality. 

I  say  with  brother  Eddington;  I'm  not 
Italian,  Hindoo,  English,  German,  Scot; 
Neither  American,  Swiss,  Welsh,  or  Dane, 
Nor  yet  an  Islander  from  ocean's  main, 


POEMS.  39 


Nor  Spanish,  French,  Norwegian  or  Swede — 
I  claim  no  country,  nation,  kingdom,  creed, 
Excepting  Zion: — that  I  proudly  name — 
That  is  the  home  I  fondly  love  to  claim. 
Were  I  to  boast  of  Nationality, 
I'd  go  beyond  this  frail  mortality. 

The  noblest  spirits  scatter'd  o'er  the  earth, 
By  truth's  eternal  infl'ence  gather' d  forth 
From  Babylon  to  earthly  Zion,  here, 
Are  on  their  way  to  heav'ns  celestial  sphere. 
Our  inns— our  stopping-places,  which,  or  where, 
Don't  matter,  when  we've  paid  our  bills  of  fare. 

One  God — one  faith — one  baptism — we  are  now 
All  in  one  kingdom — at  one  altar  bow: 
The  union  of  the  Father  and  the  Son, 
Is  heav'n's  true  pattern — we  must  all  be  one — 
All  local  feelings  must  be  laid  aside, 
And  former  differences  no  more  divide. 
The  time  approaches — Soon  will  Zion  be 
The  pride  of  earthly  Nationality; 
When  'twill  the  histories  of  those  adorn, 
Of  whom  'tis  said,  they  were  in  Zion  born. 

The  holy  Spirit,  every  saint  receives; 
Is  one  sense  added  to  what  nature  gives — 
It  forms  a  pow'rful  telescope,  whereby 
We  look  beyond  the  stretch  of  mortal  eye : 
Its  keen  perceptive  vision  takes  a  view 
Of  origin  and  destination  too. 

Through  this  superior  spirit  sense,  we  learn 
What  our  inferior  senses  ne'er  discern — 


40  POEMS. 


That  we're  not  natives  of  this  fallen  earth — 
We  liv'd  before — we  had  an  earlier  birth— 
A  clime  and  habitations  highly  pure, 
Beyond  what  these  gross  senses  can  endure. 

There  is  the  charm,  the  Nationality, 
The  spring  of  impulse  actuating  me — 
That  is  the  point  to  which  I  would  attain— 
The  country — home,  I  fondly  would  regain; 
From  whence,  for  noble  purposes,  we  all, 
To  gain  experience  thro'  our  Parents'  fall — 
To  gain  the  zenith  of  perfected  worth, 
Have  come  on  pilgrimage,  thro'  mortal  birth. 
As  foreign  trav'lers,  each,  a  camping  ground, 
On  diff'rent  portions  of  the  earth,  has  found, 
The  force  of  habit  gives  to  each  a  grace — 
Peculiar  charms  to  each  and  ev'ry  place: 
And  yet,  with  all  the  adoration  felt, 
As  at  their  shrines  devotedly  we  knelt, 
Not  one — not  all  possess'd  sufficient  worth, 
To  make  us  feel  quite  nat'raliz'd  to  earth. 

Our  hearts  beat  upward,  and  our  feelings  move 
In  homeward  currents,  towards  those  we  love, 
Where  uncorrupted  nature's  beauties  glow — 
Where  life's  pure  streams  from  endless  fountains  flow 
And  there  the  sixth,  the  spirit-sense  will  lead, 
If,  to  its  dictates,  we  give  earnest  heed; 
And  its  refining  process  will  prepare 
Us  for  a  full  and  free  reception  there; 
And  there  we'll  talk  of  Nationality, 
With  the  Celestials  of  Eternity. 


POEMS.  41 


THE  HOPES  OF  HEAVEN. 


The  hopes  of  heaven  beguile  life's  checker'd  way, 
And  light  us  onward  to  the  world  on  high. 

Go,  follow  to  yon  humble  cottage,  him 
Whose  early  matin  is  primeval  with 
Day's  dawn,  and  who  is  seen  from  morn  till  night 
In  cheerful  toil,  beneath  yon  brow-beat  hill. 

Misfortune  met  him  at  his  birth,  and  mark'd 
Him  her's  and  he  had  no  alternative; 
And  more  than  twice  ten  summer's  suns  had  roll'd 
Around,  when  all  he  knew  of  choice,  was  just 
To  mould  and  shape  his  will,  to  the  bare  form 
Of  stern  necessity.    He  wept,  sometimes; 
But  when  his  spirit  felt  more  resolute, 
He  would  impugn  the  heav'ns,  and  curse  his  lot. 

Meanwhile,  he  toil'd  and  struggled  hard,  just  to 
Preserve  his  head  from  crushing,  under  the 
Keen  tort'ring  wheel  of  grim  adversity. 

There  is  a  light  which  has  been  known  to  shine 
Upon  the  darkest  path:  It  shone  on  his; 
And  he  is  happy  now,  as  from  between 
The  leaves  of  Truth's  supernal  volume,  he 
Draws  richest  treasures  forth,  or  listens  to 
The  words  of  inspiration  as  they  flow 
From  God's  own  servants,  with  his  spirit  filled. 

The  pinching  hand  of  this  world's  poverty 
Lies  on  him  yet;  but  all  its  heaviness, 


42  POEMS. 


Has  vanish 'd,  and  it  is  no  burden  now; 

And  all  the  multitude  of  little  cares 

That  throng'd  his  path,  and  teas'd  and  vex'd  him  then, 

Surround  him  yet,  but  they  are  dispossess'©! 

Of  their  morose  and  peeyish  influence, 

And  seem  quite  harmless  and  dispassionate. 

Now  every  form  looks  beautiful  to  him, 
And  every  sound  is  full  of  melody. 

Go  to  that  sick  one's  couch,  whose  steadfast  faith, 
Reposing  on  the  everlasting  word 
Of  Him  who  does  not  lie,  has  kindled  in 
Her  bosom,  the  pure  flame  of  heav'nly  hope; 
And  in  whose  heart  the  glorious  visons  of 
Eternity  are  truthfully  impressed. 

Step  softly  o'er  the  carpet — let  not  a 
Harsh  sound  disturb  the  quietude  of  the 
Frail  tenement,  which  has,  by  long  disease, 
Contracted  close  affinity  with  the 
Unsocial  land  of  silence.    Go  up  now 
Stilly  to  the  bedside,  and  gently  o'er 
The  pillow  bend,  and  listen  silently, 
And  catch  the  high  aspiring  note,  and  mark 
What  thrilling  joy  her  spirit  fosters  when 
'Tis  striking  hands  with  frail  mortality. 

Preserve  the  secret,  in  thy  breast,  rather 
Than  tempt  the  cavil  of  a  faithless  world. 

They  tell  us,  every  hope  that  bears  beyond 
This  little  life,  is  but  the  phantom  of 
A  fragile  heart,  or  a  disordered  brain. 


POEMS.  43 


TO  A  STRANGER. 


Far  from  the  land  that  gave  thee  birth — 
O,  canst  thou  find  no  spot  on  earth, 
So  fondly  dear  to  thee, 
As  the  heart-woven  land  thou  hast  left  far  behind, 
In  the  earliest  wreath  of  young  mem'ry  entwin'd, 
With  the  friends  of  your  childhood  that  eharm'd  you 

so  long 
With  the  soft  mellow  tones  of  the  juvenile  song, 
In  the  strains  of  affectionate  glee? 

You  see,  no  more  the  limpid  rill 
That  purl'd  beneath  your  fav'rite  hill: 
O,  will  you  love  to  stray 
In  your  recklessness  now,  by  a  strange  streamlet's 

side? 
Will  you  feel  in  your  bosom,  that  innocent  pride, 
Which  stole  on  you  so  oft,  when  the  light  of  its  spell 
Gave  new  charms  to  the  dew-drops  which  lusciously 
fell 
On  your  own— your  lov'd  path,  far  away? 

You've  left  behind  your  social  train: 
W'ill  your  fond  spirit  rest  again, 
And  feel  security 
In  the  bosom  of  strangers  you  never  have  tried 
By  the  ebb  and  the  flow  of  prosperity's  tide? 


44  POEMS. 

Or,  will  it  retreat  on  the  wings  of  regret, 
To  the  frequented  bow'r,  where  most  lovingly  met 
Those  which  friendship  held  sacred  to  thee? 

Believe  me :  here  are  friends  as  kind 
As  those  whom  you  have  left  behind — 
Green  walks,  and  streams  that  flow, 
With  a  current  as  clear,  and  a  murmur  as  soft, 
As  the  one  that  has  filFd  your  rich  musings,  so  oft: 
O,  then  sever  yourself  from  the  chains  of  the  past, 
Unto  which  your  affections  are  fetter'd  so  fast; 
Since  the  present,  has  gifts  to  bestow. 

But  can  you  not  the  fairy  chase 
That  binds  you  to  your  native  place; 
Rather  than  feel  unblest; 
To  the  friends  of  your  childhood — your  country  your 

home, 
Go,  go  and  be  happy — 'tis  folly  to  roam: 
Go:  return  to  the  shade  of  thy  fair  dropping  vine, 
Where  the  pulses  of  nature  seem  wedded  to  thine; 
Go,  and  lull  thy  lone  spirit  to  rest. 


POEMS.  45 


CONTENTMENT. 


Contentment  is  wealth  that  I  would  not  resign 
For  all  the  gold  dust,  ever  found  in  the  mine: 
'Tis  a  boon  so  unearthly — a  jewel  so  fair 
That  with  crowns,  thrones,  and  empires  will  never 

compare. 
And  I  would  not  exchange  it  for  beauty's  fine  grace 
Nor  all  fickle  attractions  that  time  will  erase: 
Boasted  honors  and  titles  I  freely  despise, 
When  contrasted  with  this  incomparable  prize. 

Would  you  feel  in  your  bosom  a  music  of  soul, 
Like  the  soft  gliding  stream's  imperceptible  roll? — 
Clothe  your  mind  with  a  sweetness  surpassing  the  rose? 
Fondly  cherish  the  fortune,  Contentment  bestows. 

What!  that  passive  contentment  that  laziness  screens, 
Which  recoils  at  the  use  of  appropriate  means? 
That  inactive  content  which  can  carelessly  wait, 
And  leave  objects  adrift  on  the  ocean  of  fate, 
And  not  hazard  an  effort,  nor  reach  forth  a  hand, 
By  the  dint  of  exertion  to  bring  them  to  land? 
The  cold  stupor  that  reigns  when  the  heart-strings  are 

mute, 
And  which  fills  the  warm  bosom  with  feelings  acute? 


46  POEMS. 


No;  no:  but  the  charm  which  spontaneously  springs 
From  a  view  of  the  nature  and  order  of  things. 
Not  a  torpid  inertia,  with  pulses  confin'd; 
But  a  principle  in,  and  controling  the  mind — 
That  sweet  placid  compliance,  which  virtue  inspires, 
And  which  rigid  necessity  often  requires. 

Yes,  that  cheerful  concurrence  that  heaves  not  a  sigh 
O'er  the  change-woven  sceneries  that  time  ushers  by: 
Which  performs  as  a  limner,  when  prospects  grow 

pale, 
And  creates  a  bright  lamp  in  obscurity's  vale: 
Which  can  smile  at  misfortune,  and  sport  amid  toil — 
The  dark-omen 'd  predictions  of  poverty  foil: 
Which  extracts  the  rough  poison  from  malice  and 

hate — 
That  which  draws  from  oppression  its  heaviest  weight — 
Wakes  up  speech  in  retirement  and  sportively  sings, 
In  the  midst  of  life's  storms,  inexpressible  things: 
Which  presides  over  feeling,  with  power  so  strange, 
That  oft  varying  condition's  divested  of  change. 

If  contentment's  true  impulse  benignly  imparts 
Submission's  sweet  influence  over  our  hearts, 
Nine-tenths  of  the  varied  discomfitures  here, 
Recede  in  the  distance,  and  rarely  appear; 
And  whate'er  of  life's  comforts  are  graciously  given, 
Are  used  with  thanksgiving  as  blessings  from  heaven. 


POEMS.  47 


NARCISSI  TO  NARCISSUS. 


Deaf  was  my  ear — my  heart  was  cold: 
My  feelings  could  not  move 

For  all  your  vows,  so  gently  told — 
Your  sympathies  and  love. 

But  when  I  saw  you  wipe  the  tear 

From  sorrow's  fading  eye, 
And  stoop  the  friendless  heart  to  cheer, 

And  still  the  rising  sigh: 

And  when  I  saw  you  turn  away 
From  folly's  glittering  crown, 

To  deck  you  with  the  pearls  that  lay 
On  wisdom's  fallow  ground: 

And  when  I  saw  your  heart  refuse 

The  flatt'ring  baits  of  vice, 
And  with  undaunted  courage  choose 

Fair  virtue's  golden  prize: 

And  when  I  saw  your  towering  soul 

Rise  on  devotion's  wings: 
And  saw  amid  your  pulses,  roll, 

A  scorn  of  trifling  things, 


48  POEMS. 


I  loved  you  for  your  goodness  sake 

And  cheerfully  can  part 
With  home  and  friends,  confiding  in 

Your  noble,  generous  heart. 


TO  A  YOUNG  SAINT. 


Fair,  youthful  Maiden,  dost  thou  comprehend 
The  honor,  dignity — the  glory,  and 
The  high  responsibilities  compris'd 
In  your  profession? 

You've  essay'd  to  be 
A  Saint  of  God — to  be  an  heir  of  his, 
And  a  joint  heir  with  Jesus  Christ,  to  an 
Inheritance,  eternal  in  the  heavens. 
Number'd  with  Zion's  daughters,  you  are  rais'd 
In  honor,  high  o'er  earthly  princesses. 

Thine  was  a  favor'd  lot,  when  o'er  thy  path 
The  everlasting  Gospel  spread  its  light. 
That  was  a  time  of  interest — a  scene, 
On  which  the  angels  gaz'd  with  holy  joy, 
And  made  sweet  mention  of  your  name,  in  strains 
Of  tuneful  sympathy;  when  your  warm  heart, 
Beating  with  youthful  expectation,  and 
The  sunny  hopes  of  life's  unclouded  day, 


POEMS.  49 


Was  open'd  to  receive  the  glorious  rays 

Of  truth,  supernal,  emanated  from 

The  gushing  fountain  of  eternity: 

And  when  beneath  the  liquid  wave,  you  clos'd 

Your  eyes  to  this  world's  fascinating  scenes, 

You  started  upward. 

Lady,  onward  move, 
Nor  turn  aside,  though  earth  and  hell  combine 
Their  hateful  wrath  and  all  the  low  disguise 
Of  saintly  hypocrites. 

There's  none  can  stay 
Jehovah's  hand;  and  nothing  will  impede 
The  conquering  footstep  of  his  glorious  work. 

A  crown  of  brighter  glory  than  the  sun 
In  yonder  firmament,  will  yet  be  seal'd 
Upon  the  faithful  Saint.     But  now,  it  is 
A  day  of  sacrifice.  Ease,  honor,  wealth, 
Must  be  surrender 'd  to  obtain  the  prize: 
E'en  reputation,  dearer  far  than  life, 
Is  doom'd  to  surfer  cruel  martyrdom. 

The  Lord  permitted  satan  to  go  forth 
And  prove  the  faith  and  the  integrity 
Of  Job,  his  servant:  and  he  suffers  now, 
A  lying  tongue,  with  base  impunity 
To  stalk  abroad.    But  God — the  hosts  of  heav'n, 
And  ail  the  best  of  earth,  are  on  the  side 
Of  innocence.    Then  Lady,  fear  no  ill, 
Except  departures  from  the  glorious  truths, 
Communicated  from  the  world  on  high. 


50  POEMS. 


Angels  have  falVn  !    Be  this  thy  monitor 
To  check  the  first  faint  glow  of  confidence 
In  human  wisdom  and  in  human  strength. 
Confide  in  God,  and  cheerfully  receive; 
Fearless  of  consequence;  what  he  reveals 
From  time  to  time,  thro'  his  own  prophets  here; 
Then,  neither  principalities,  nor  pow'rs — 
Things  present — things  to  come,  nor  height,  nor  depth, 
Can  separate  us  from  the  love  of  God. 


THE  HERO'S  REWARD. 


Well  may  the  fire  of  glory  blaze 

Upon  the  warrior's  tread, 
And  nations  twine  a  wreath  of  praise 

Around  the  hero's  head. 
His  path  is  honor,  and  his  name 
Is  written  on  the  spire  of  fame. 

His  deeds  are  deeds  of  courage,  for 

He  treads  on  gory  ground, 
Amid  the  pride  and  pomp  of  war, 

When  carnage  sweeps  around: 
With  sword  unsheath'd  he  stands  before 
The  foe,  amid  the  cannon's  roar. 


POEMS.  51 


If  such,  the  meed  the  warrior  gains — 
If  such,  the  palm  he  bears— 

If  such  insignia  he  obtains — 
If  such  the  crown  he  wears: 

If  laurels  thus  his  head  entwine 

And  stars  of  triumph  round  him  shine; 

How  noble  must  be  his  reward, 
Who,  midst  the  crafts  of  men, 

Clad  in  the  armor  of  the  Lord, 
Goes  forth  to  battle  when 

The  angry  pow'rs  of  darkness  rage, 

And  men  and  devils  warfare  wage. 

Who  goes  tradition's  charm  to  bind, 

That  reason  may  go  free — 
And  liberate  the  human  mind 

From  cleric  tyranny — 
To  sever  superstition's  rod, 
And  propagate  the  truth  of  God. 

Who  wars  with  prejudice,  to  break 

Asunder  error's  chain; 
And  make  the  sandy  pillars  shake 

Where  human  dogmas  reign: 
Who  dares  to  be  a  man  of  God 
And  bear  the  spirit's  sword  abroad. 

Who  with  his  latest  dying  breath 
Bears  witness  to  the  truth — 

Who  fearless  meets  the  monster  death, 
To  gain  immortal  youth; 


52  POEMS. 


And  enters  on  a  higher  sphere, 
Without  a  shudder  or  a  fear. 

Above  all  earthly,  his  shall  he 

An  everlasting  fame; 
The  archives  of  eternity 

Will  register  his  name — 
With  gems  of  endless  honor  rife, 
His  crown  will  be  Eternal  Life. 


THE  DAY  IS  DAWNING. 


Lo!  the  mighty  God  remembers 
Joseph's  children  in  the  West: 

In  the  day  of  their  redemption, 
Shem  with  Japhet  will  be  blest. 

CHORUS. 

Behold  the  day — the  day  is  dawning — 
Darkness  flies  before  our  view: 

Old  Lehi's  children  are  returning, 
To  walk  in  the  light  of  Zion  too; 
And  we  all  will  shout  aloud  hosaima. 


POEMS.  53 

Glory  beams  on  Ephraim's  mountains — 

Beauty  smiles  on  Ephraims  plains: 
Streams  of  joy,  from  heav'nly  fountains, 

Join  with  music's  sweetest  strains. 
chorus — Behold  the  day,  etc. 

Come  you  wand'ring  sons  of  Lehi, 

Learn  the  ways  the  white  men  love: 
Long  the  curse  has  rested  on  you — 

God  will  soon  the  curse  remove. 
chorus — Behold  the  day,  etc. 

Lo!  ye  scatter'd  tribes  of  Israel, 

Ephraim  and  Manasseh  too; 
Here  the  banner  of  salvation 
Is  unfurl'd  and  waves  for  you. 

chorus — Behold  the  day,  etc. 


THE  LAMANITE. 


The  Great  Spirit,  ('tis  said,)  to  our  forefathers  gave 
All  the  lands  'twixt  the  eastern  and  western  big  wave: 
And  the  Indian  was  happy — he'd  nothing  to  fear 
As  he  ranged  o'er  the  mountains  and  chased  the  wild 
deer: 


54  POEMS. 


And  he  felt  like  a  prince,  as  he  steer'd  the  canoe, 
Or  explored  the  lone  wild,  with  his  hatchet  and  bow — 
Quenched  his  thirst  at  the  streamlet,  or  simply  he  fed, 
With  the  heavens  for  his  curtains — the  hillock  his  bed. 
Say,  then  was  he  homeless?    No,  no,  our  hearts  beat 
For  the  dear  ones  we  loved,  in  the  wigwam  retreat. 

But  a  wreck  of  the  white  man  came  over  the  wave: 
In  the  chains  of  the  tyrant,  he  learned  to  enslave : 
Emerging  from  bondage,  and  pale  with  distress, 
He  fled  from  oppression— he  came  to  oppress. 
Yes,  such  was  the  white  man,  invested  with  power; 
When  almost  devoured,  he  could  turn  and  devour. 
He  seized  our  possessions,  and  fatt'ning  with  pride, 
He  thirsted  for  glory,  but,  freedom  he  cried. 
Our  fathers  were  brave — they  contended  awhile, 
Then  left  the  invader  the  coveted  soil: 
The  spoiler  pursued  them — our  fathers  went  on, 
And  their  children  are  now  at  the  low  setting  sun. 
The  white  man,  yet  prouder,  would  grasp  all   the 

shore — 
He  smuggled,  and  purchas'd,  and  coveted  more. 

The  pamper'd  blue  Eagle  is  spreading  its  crest 
Beside  the  great  waters  that  circle  the  West — 
Behind  the  west  woods,  where  the  red  man  retires, 
The  white  man  has  kindled  his  opposite  fires, 
To  fell  the  last  forest  and  burn  up  the  wild 
Which  Nature  designed  for  her  wandering  child! 

Chased  into  environs,  and  nowhere  to  fly — 
Too  weak  to  contend  and  unwilling  to  die: 


POEMS.  55 


O  where  will  a  place  for  the  Indian  be  found? 
Shall  he  take  to  the  skies,  or  retreat  under  ground? 

Such  are  the  breathings  of  the  Indian's  soul. 

Alas!  that  scathing,  withering,  dwindling  thing, 

Degeneracy,  the  own  legitimate — 

The  natural  offspring  of  apostacy! 

Its  living  monument  appears  before 

Us,  in  the  filthy,  poor,  degraded  race 

Of  Lehi's  once  delightful,  righteous  seed. 

Once  noble,  civilized  and  well  refined — 

Walking  in  all  the  statutes  of  the  Lord; 

The  golden  gems  of  happiness  adorned 

His  path,  and  he  walked  forth  with  noble  tread, 

In  the  most  elevated  forms  of  life 

Portrayed  by  earthly  human  dignity. 

He  then  was  wise  and  most  intelligent, 

For  he  drank  freely  at  the  flowing  fount 

Of  heavenly  wisdom  and  intelligence, 

And  held  communion  with  the  worlds  above. 

Then  he  was  white  and  very  beautiful, 

For  then,  the  spirit  of  the  Lord,  which  is 

The  soul  of  beauty,  and  imparts  a  charm 

To  all  that's  beautiful,  reigned  in  his  heart 

And  glowed  in  every  action  of  his  life — 

His  animated  features  shone  with  bright 

Reflected  beams  of  God's  own  countenance. 

But  mark  the  change!    As  habit  blunts  the  edge 
Of  sensibility,  so  seasons  of 
Prosperity,  continued  long,  will  lull, 
To  guilty  sleep,  appreciation's  powers; 


56  POEMS. 

And  man,  dependent,  mortal  man,  forgets 

The  bounteoits  hand  from  whence  all  blessing  flow. 

Blinded  by  mammon's  glittering  bribes,  he  grows 

Proud  in  his  heart,  and  vain  in  all  his  thoughts; 

And  pressing  to  his  lip  the  cup  of  vile 

Iniquity,  swallows  the  deadly  draught, 

And  sinks  in  degradation's  dark  abyss! 

But  justice  slumbers  not. — He  has  afhx'd 

To  every  law,  rewards  and  penalties; 

And  in  His  courts,  Judges  and  Jurors  take 

No  bribes!    Therefore,  the  dreadful  curse  of  God 

Upon  the  Lamanite,  fell  heavily. 

What  has  beginning,  also  has  an  end. 

The  self-same  power,  that  unto  breach  of  law, 

Affixed  a  punishment,  has  also  to 

That  punishment,  prescribed  a  certain  bound, 

O'er  which  it  cannot  pass. 

«  8  *  *  »  * 

Times,  seasons  and  their  changes,  all  fulfill 

Th'  eternal  purpose  of  Jehovah's  will: 

Justice  must  have  its  legal,  full  demand, 

E'er  soothing  mercy  can  extend  her  hand. 

The  night  of  ignorance,  which  deep  shades  distill'd 

On  the  poor  red  man,  nearly  is  fulfill'd: 

Another  key,  the  Priesthood  turns,  and  lo! 

The  glimm'ring  rays  of  light  begin  to  flow 

From  the  broad  fountain  of  eternal  day, 

And  hope  is  ho v 'ring  o'er  his  darksome  way. 

While  this  last  dispensation's  moving  on, 

To  Joseph's  scatter'd  remnant's  day  will  dawn— 


POEMS.  57 

Their  hearts  will  beat  responsive  to  the  sound 
Of  truth,  as  spoken  from  Cumorah's  ground: 
The  scales  will  fall  which  now  becloud  their  eyes, 
And  they,  in  faultless  purity  arise; 
And  the  now  loathsome,  savage  Lamanite, 
Will,  when  the  Lord  removes  the  curse,  be  white: 
He'll  learn  our  ways,  and  feel  as  saints  should  do — 
With  them  unite  in  building  Zion,  too. 

He'll  yet  go  forth,  and  from  his  thicket  den, 
"Asa  young  lion,"  prowl  on  guilty  men — 
The  scourge  of  justice — vengeance's  rod,  he'll  be, 
To  punish  men  of  blood  and  cruelty. 

Ere  the  great  indignation  goes  abroad, 

It  has  beginning  at  the  House  of  God: 

The  judgments  that  will  make  the  nations  fear 

And  tremble,  must  be  felt  and  tasted  here. 

*  *  *  *  *  * 

Peace  to  their  footsteps,  whosoe'er  may  go 
To  Lehi's  sons,  the  path  of  life  to  show. 
What  though  the  cup  seems  bitter  in  your  hand? 
Those  who,  as  saviors  on  Mount  Zion,  stand, 
Must  home  and  ease,  and  love  of  self,  forego, 
To  bear  salvation  unto  those  below: 
'Twas  thus  Messiah  left  the  courts  above, 
To  fill  a  mission  here,  of  life  and  love. 
Thus  go,  the  cheering  lamp  of  life  to  bear 
Wherever  Jacob's  scattered  children  are: 
The  ancient  fathers  will  your  labors  view, 
With  faith  and  prayer — with  guardian  watchings  too: 


58  POEMS. 

The  tarrying  Nephites,  also,  will  appear 
From  time  to  time,  to  guide,  instruct  and  cheer. 
Shrink  from  no  duty — fear  no  future  ill: 
He  that  preserves  us,  will  preserve  us  still. 


THE  THOUGHTS  OF  HOME. 


O,  is  there  aught  so  gently  strange 

By  stoic  reason  taught, 
With  all  the  rare  varieties 

Of  pain  and  pleasure,  fraught: 
Where,  without  contradiction, 

The  bitter  and  the  sweet, 
With  such  surprising  placidness, 

In  combination  meet: 
Where  the  extremely  opposites, 

Of  joy  and  sorrow  come, 
Commingling  so  harmoniously, 
As  in  the  Thoughts  of  Home? 
The  Thoughts  of  Home — how  strangely  dear, 
While  fond  affection  deigns  to  cheer; 
For  hope  will  sing  in  spite  of  fear, 
And  transports  brighten  with  a  tear. 


POEMS.  59 

Sweet  tones  of  pensive  playfulness, 

Move  thro'  each  blissful  lay; 
Much  like  the  blush  of  evening, 

Amid  the  blaze  of  day; 
And  all  so  indiscribably, 

They,  only  know,  who  feel 
The  magic  of  its  soft  embrace, 

Across  the.  bosom,  steal: 
And  none  but  stranger-hearts  can  feel; 

And  only  those  that  roam, 
Can  know  the  sober  ecstacies 
That  swell  the  Thoughts  of  Home. 
The  Thoughts  of  Home!  ah,  who  can  tell 
The  charming  music  of  its  spell, 
When  mem'ry  bids  the  chorus  swell, 
On  which  reflection  loves  to  dwell. 

When  busy  day,  retiring, 

Withdraws  its  radiant  eye; 
And  scenes  of  wild  confusedness 

In  still  composure  lie: 
When  nature's  arms  are  folded 

Upon  her  sluinb'ring  breast, 
With  all  her  brilliant  gaieties 

In  sullen  sadness  drest; 
O  then,  the  stranger's  inmost  soul 

Exults  to  meet  the  gloom, 
And  feed  its  fond  affections  on 

The  cordial  Thoughts  of  Home. 
For  then  the  Thoughts  of  Home  are  prest 
With  warmest  ardor  to  the  breast, 


60  POEMS. 


When  recollection's  golden  crest, 

In  night's  soft  shadowy  form,  is  drest. 

'Tis  now  the  morning  twilight 

Of  the  millennial  day: 
Its  dawn  is  fast  approaching — 

We  see  its  cheering  ray; 
As  on  our  spirit-pulses, 
.  The  Priesthood's  dews  distil, 
Bright  prospects  of  our  better  Home, 

Our  waking  bosoms  thrill; 
Where  "holy  habitations"  are, 

By  hands  immortal,  made, 
And  with  eternal  beauties  crowned, 
Whose  lustre  will  not  fade. 
And  while  as  strangers,  here  we  roam 
And  stem  time's  billows,  tide  and  foam, 
Like  life-inspiring  cordials,  come 
The  Thoughts  of  our  Celestial  Home. 


MY  OWN-MY  COUNTRY'S  FLAG. 


I  love  that  Flag.— When  in  my  childish  glee, 
A  prattling  girl  upon  my  Grandsire's  knee, 
I  heard  him  tell  strange  tales,  with  valor  rife- 
How  that  same  Flag  was  bought  with  blood  and  life; 


POEMS.  61 


And  his  tall  form  seemed  taller,  when  he  said, 
"  My  child,  for  that,  your  Grandpa  fought  and  bled." 
My  young  heart  felt,  that  every  scar  he  wore, 
Caused  him  to  love  that  banner  more  and  more. 


I  caught  the  fire,  and,  as  in  years  I  grew, 
I  loved  the  Flag — I  loved  my  country  too : 
My  bosom  swell'd  with  pride,  to  think  my  birth 
Was  on  this  highly  favor'd  spot  of  earth. 

#;?  «**  *t*  7^  ''*,'  *'"  *?» 

Tiiere  came  a  time,  I  shall  remember  well — 
Beneath  the  "  Stars  and  Stripes  "  we  could  not  dwell: 
We  had  to  flee:  but  in  our  hasty  flight, 
We  grasped  the  Flag,  with  more  than  mortal  might; 
Resolved,  that,  though  our  foes  should  us  bereave 
Of  home  and  wealth,  our  JElag,  we  would  not  leave. 
We  took  the  Flag,  and  journeying  to  the  West, 
We  wore  its  motto  graven  on  each  breast. 

Here,  we  arrived  in  peace;  and  God  be  praised, 
Anon  our  country's  glorious  standard  raised; 
And  the  dear  Flag,  in  graceful  majesty, 
Hail'd  o'er  the  mountains,  "  Union — Liberty." 
Fair  Freedom  spread  her  garlands  'round  us,  though 
This  land  was  held  in  claim  by  Mexico. 

'Twas  not  as  now,  with  cities  spreading  round, 
And  nature's  products  flowing  from  the  ground — 
With  shelt'ring  roofs,  and  plenty's  genial  smile, 
With  luscious  boards,  to  nerve  the  arm  for  toil. 


62  POEMS. 

No  spade  nor  plow  had  stirred  the  sleeping  sod- 
No  whiteman's  foot,  the  turf  had  ever  trod: 
'Twas  all  a  waste,  lone,  desolate  and  drear — 
The  savage  roamed — the  cricket  chirruped  here. 

Exiled  from  home,  a  long  and  weary  tread, 
With  meagre  outfits — scanty  was  our  bread: 
Grim-faced  necessity  enforced  a  strife — 
We  battled  with  the  elements  for  life. 

But  God  was  with  us,  and  His  wisdom  saved — 
High,  o'er  our  heads,  the  sacred  banner  waved: 
'Mid  shouts  of  joy,  I  saw  that  Flag  unfurled, 
And  wave,  on  mountain  breezes,  to  the  world. 

'Tis  waving  yet. — Forever  shall  it  wave : 
Beneath  its  spire,  celestial  Peace  shall  lave. 
Hail  to  the  Banner  of  the  brave  and  free — 
All  hail,  to  Union,  Truth  and  Liberty. 


ODE  TO  LIBERTY. 


Hail,  the  Day  when  Freedom,  first, 
Proud  oppression's  fetters  burst — 
Hail,  their  shades,  who  boldly  durst 
Liberty  proclaim. 


POEMS.  63 


Chorus. 

Here,  amid  the  mountain  sky, 
Freedom's  Flag  is  waving  high — 
Let  the  heav'n-born  echo  fly; 
God  and  Liberty. 

Hail,  the  Banner  of  the  brave, 
Streaming  o'er  the  patriot's  grave: 
Here,  forever  shall  it  wave 
To  protect  the  just. 

Chorus— 

Glorious  Fourth!    The  day  is  ours — 
We  have  nourished  Freedom's  powers, 
And  with  us,  her  standard  tow'rs 
To  Jehovah's  throne. 

Chorus— 

God,  who  moved  our  worthy  Sires, 
When  they  kindled  Freedom's  fires, 
Utah's  noble  sons,  inspires 
With  the  sacred  flame. 

Chorus — 

Here,  with  God-like  grasp,  and  bold, 
We,  the  Constitution  hold, 
Pure  as  when  its  sacred  fold 

Was,  at  first,  bequeathed. 

Chorus— 


64  POEMS. 


Peace,  the  gift  that  Freedom  gave, 
When  she  crowned  the  wise  and  brave, 
Bids  her  royal  banner  wave 

O'er  our  mountain  home. 

Chorus— 

Peace,  for  which  our  fathers  bled — 
Peace,  on  which  the  nations  tread — 
Peace,  the  angel-form,  has  fled 
To  these  mountain  vales. 

Chorus— 

Freedom  spreads  her  wand  abroad, 
Prompting  all  to  worship  God, 
Fearless  of  the  tyrant's  rod: 
Glorious  Liberty! 

Chorus — 

Freedom,  Justice,  Truth  and  peace, 
Shall  in  Utah's  vales  increase: 
Shout,  O  shout,  till  time  shall  cease, 
Truth  and  liberty! 

Chorus — 

Here,  amid  the  mountain  sky, 
Freedom's  Flag  is  waving  high — 
Let  the  heav'n-born  echo  fly — 
God  and  Liberty. 


POEMS.  65 


THE  YEAR.  HAS  GONE. 


List  to  that  sound — that  rolling  chime: 
Hark !  'tis  the  busy  knell  of  Time : 

The  year  has  gone, 

And  borne  along, 

The  hopes  and  fears — 

The  smiles  and  tears 
Of  multitudes  unknown  to  song. 

The  year  has  gone,  and  in  its  train, 
Such  scenes  of  pleasure  and  of  pain, 
As  bear  us  on 
From  life's  first  dawn, 
Thro'  flowing  deeps— 
O'er  rugged  steeps, 
Until  life's  glimmering  lamp  is  gone. 

The  year  has  gone — but  mem'ry  still, 
The  curtain  holds  with  fairy  skill: 

As  if  to  keep 

Old  Time  asleep, 

While  scenes  roll  back 

Upon  their  track, 
And  recollection  takes  a  peep. 


66  POEMS. 


The  year  has  gone — but  yet,  a  trace, 
Which  Time's  broad  besom  can't  erase, 

Is  left  behind 

To  point  the  mind , 

To  deeds  perform 'd, 

And  prospects  warin'd, 
Closely  with  future  years  entwin'd. 

The  year  has  gone,  and  with  it  fled 
The  schemes  of  many  an  aching  head; 

The  half -formed  schemes, 

Like  fairy  dreams, 

Which  take  their  flight 

Before  the  light, 
Or  perish  in  the  noon-day  beams. 

The  year  has  gone,  and  with  it  flown 
The  sage's  thought — the  songster's  tone- 
Gone  to  pervade 
Oblivion's  shade: 
And  with  them  dies 
No  more  to  rise, 
The  product  of  the  Poet's  head. 


POEMS.  67 


PEACE  IN  THE  STATES. 


There's  a  pause — there's  an  ebb  in  the  nation  tide— 
There's  a  check  on  the  reins  of  fratricide. 
Hush'd  is  the  cannon's  thundering  roar, 
And  the  clarion's  sound  is  heard  no  more: 
No  more  the  shrill  cry  of,  To  arms!  to  arms! 
Stirs  the  feverish  war-pulse  with  fresh  alarms: 
The  brave  warriors'  chargers  have  ceased  to  tread, 
With  proud  prancing  step,  over  heaps  of  dead. 

No  more,  on  the  crimson'd  battle  field, 

In  hostile  dread  array, 
In  armor  equip 'd — with  sword  and  shield, 

And  with  hearts  that  yearn  to  slay; 
Brother  with  brother— son  with  sire — 

Kindred  with  kindred  meet, 
And  kin  against  kin,  with  mortal  ire, 
The  war-drum  of  battle,  beat; 
Who  seem'd,  by  mutual  demon  impulse,  driven 
To  send  each  other,  sword  in  hand,  to  heaven: 
They  all  were  "  Christians  " — by  one  faith  endow'd- 
Pray'd  the  same  prayer — at  the  same  altars  bow'd. 

That  awful  scene  has  closed;  and  yet,  not  all 
Of  sorrow  ceases  with  the  curtain's  fall: 
One  peep  behind  the  scenes,  would  much  disclose, 
Of  bleeding  anguish  and  a  world  of  woes: 


68  POEMS. 

The  warm  heart  sickens  at  the  distant  view — 

God  help  the  widows  and  the  orphans  too; 

And  succor  female  innocence;  and  give 

The  pure  in  heart  protective  pow'r  to  live, 

E'en  tho'  corruption  with  its  gold-gloved  hand 

Should  grasp  the  reins,  and  rule  throughout  the  land. 

And  now  of  boasted  peace,  pray  tell 
Where  the  pure  goddess  deigns  to  dwell: 
Ye  statesmen,  if  you'll  tell  us  where 
Freedom  is  free,  sweet  Peace  dwells  there: 
What  truthful  patriot  would  dare, 
Pointing  to  Congress,  say,  "  tis  there?  " 
If  Peace  is  there,  it  apes  a  mouse, 
Both  in  the  Senate  and  the  House. 
It  is  not,  altogether  a  "  mouse  in  the  wall," 
'  Tis  a  mouse  in  the  sanctum  and  one  in  the  hall — 
'  Tis  a  mouse  in  the  desk,  and  it  nibbles  the  laws, 
And  it  nibbles  the  lock  od  the  Treasury's  draws, 
And  it  nibbles  the  vetoes,  and  nibbles  the  pleas, 
And  would  fain  nibble  Utah  as  mice  nibble  cheese; 
But  for  all  of  these  nibblings,  we'll  give  it  ablution, 
When  it  ceases  to  nibble  the  old  Constitution. 

Is  it  true,  peace  and  freedom  have  sometimes  met, 
By  mere  chance,  in  the  President's  Cabinet? 
And  say,  is  it  true  that  Sarnbo  is  free? 
He  seems  ill  at  ease  in  his  liberty, 
Which  is  like  a  wild  bird — the  North  caged  it,  and 
In  its  cage,  it  now  nutters  in  Sambo's  hand; 
And  full  many  dilemmas  of  various  mixtures 
Are  now  interwove  with  our  national  fixtures. 


POEMS.  69 


They  call  it  a  peace,  when  the  deadly  strife 
Is  over,  which  battles  with  life  for  life. 
Office  trafficers,  swindlers  and  their  vile  horde 
Will  entail  worse  mischiefs  than  fire  and  sword: 
When  corruption  mounts  the  chariot  of  Time, 
Peace  will  not  remain  in  the  province  of  crime. 

There's  a  time — it  will  come,  when  these  evils  will 

cease — 
From  the  throes  of  our  nation,  the  Phoenix  of  Peace 
Will  come  forth  in  proud  triumph,  and  Liberty,  then, 
Will,  with  Justice  and  Truth,  bless  the  children  of  men. 


THE  HYPOCRITE  AND  THE  TRAITOR. 


I  hate  hypocrisy— that  velvet  thing 
With  silken  lips,  whence  oily  words  flow  out. 

'Tis  like  a  mildew  in  the  social  cup 
Of  life— 'tis  worse  than  mould — 'tis  poison— 'tis 
A  worm  disguised,  that  eats  asunder  the 
Most  holy  cords  of  confidence,  that  bind 
In  cordial  fellowship,  the  hearts  of  men. 
Kind  words,  with  falsehood  in  them?  Yes,  how  strange ! 
Designed  to  please— and  yet,  they  do  not  please, 
But  sting,  like  vipers,  into  frienship's  core. 


70  POEMS. 


I  love  sweet  sounds — soft  and  melodious, 
That  chime  with  pure  unsullied  nature's  tones; 
But  to  my  soul  there  is  no  melody 
In  sounds,  however  smooth,  devoid  of  truth. 
I'd  rather  hear  the  dashing  cat'ract's  roar, 
Or  the  rough  clamor  of  the  swelling  surge, 
Or  listen  to  the  thunder's  bursting  peal, 
Than  creamy  words,  with  glowing  eloquence 
Dress 'd  up,  which  savor  of  dishonesty. 

If  I  were  ignorant,  blind,  or  were  a  fool, 
I  could  take  down  the  soporific  draught, 
And  call  it  good,  and  look  the  author  in 
The  face,  and  smile,  and  be  no  hypocrite. 
But  when  I'm  like  my  Maker,  God,  endued 
With  intuition,  (be  it  e'er  so  small) 
I  do,  like  Him,  love  truth  and  honesty. 

Although  it  savors  much  of  treach'ry, 
There's  many  a  fashionable,  well-disposed, 
Kind  feeling  hypocrite,  would  not  betray; 
But  aiming  for  your  good,  they,  Jesuit-like, 
Believe  "  the  end  will  sanctify  the  means," 
And  thus  destroy  the  jewel,  confidence. 

I  will  not  dip  my  pen  in  gall:    Then  how 
Describe  that  vice  of  vices — treachery? 

The  traitor,  holding  claims  on  manhood,  is 
A  gross  burlesque  upon  his  Maker's  form, 
And  would  be,  were  he  rightly  classified, 
Of  crawling  reptile  kind,  so  serpentine, 
That  as  the  anaconda  twines  itself 


POEMS.  71 


Affectionately  round  its  victim,  till 

Life  yields  its  empire  to  the  fond  embrace; 

So  coils  the  traitor,  when  his  aim  is  death. 

How  sordid  is  the  wretch  who  sets  a  price 
For  traffic,  on  his  brethren,  kingdom,  friends — 
His  nation,  country — his  salvation,  all! 

And  what  the  price?    Perchance  a  paltry  sum 
Of  Gold— a  little  speck  of  that  same  gold, 
With  which,  the  common  streets  of  Zion  will 
Be  pav'd,  on  which,  the  faithful  Saints  of  God 
Will  tread. 

Perhaps  he  sells  at  cheaper  rate — 
For  only  the  vile,  rotten  friendship  of 
The  villainous,  who  more  despise  him  for 
The  very  treachery,  purchased  with  a  kiss. 

God  has  implanted  in  the  human  heart, 
A  love  of  honor,  right  and  righteousness; 
And  he,  within  whose  soul,  this  attribute 
Of  Deity,  dies  out,  has  fallen  far 
Indeed,  below  his  natal  innocence. 

'Twoulcl  seem,  the  traitor's  heart  would  be  its  own 
Reproof,  as  he  with  hellish  purpose,  joins 
In  all  the  various  walks  of  Church  and  State — 
With  a  mock  interest,  in  grave  councils,  meets, 
And  sits  in  judgment  on  his  country's  weal: 
With  seeming  sanctity,  he  mingles  in 
The  circles  met  for  holy  prayer  and  praise, 
And  dares  the  name  of  God  to  utter:    Yes, 
"He  prays  like  Abel,  and  performs  like  Cain.,, 


72  POEMS. 


The  ancient  Judas,  modern  Arnold  aped — 
Some  others,  later  still,  I've  known,  but  they 
Are  gone,  and  with  them,  let  their  mem'ries  rot: 
All  their  successor's  fates  will  be  the  same — 
Their  ghosts  will  meet  in  Pluto's  nether  shade. 

But  traitors  have  been,  are,  and  will  be,  till 
Satan  is  bound,  and  all  his  imps  destroyed. 

Many  betray  through  ill-plac'd  confidence: 
With  no  intent  of  crime,  committing  crimes — 
Let  such,  take  counsel  and  henceforth,  beware. 

"  Hell  is  let  out  for  noon" — foul  spirits  are, 
With  all  their  wires,  at  work — coarse  wires  and  fine, 
To  draw  in  traps,  in  readiness  to  spring. 
Let  none  presumpt'ously  conceit  themselves, 
Impervious  to  all  their  thousand  schemes, 

While  aiming  to  be  greatly  good,  be  wise; 
Goodness  is  not  sufficient — wisdom  fills 
Salvation's  judgment  seat  and  Chair  of  State. 

Integrity  leads  to  the  Godhead— Truth 
Is  God's  own  pass -word  at  the  gate  of  heaven. 


POEMS.  73 


THE   CHAMPION. 


What  champion  comes  with  piercing  eye — 

With  bold  and  manly  brow? 
Whose  lip  has  never  quiver'd:    Why? 

He  never  broke  a  vow. 

You  see  no  cringing  in  his  look — 

No  flinching  and  no  fear: 
And  why?    No  bribe  he  ever  took — 

No  flatt'ry  charms  his  ear. 

He  shows  no  tremor  in  his  hand — 

No  fait 'ring  in  his  tread: 
He's  form'd  the  living  to  command, 

And  rule  the  mighty  dead. 

The  same  in  person  ev'ry where, 

And  champion  all  the  while, 
Tho'  deck'd  with  gold  and  di'monds  rare, 

Or  clad  in  peasant  style. 

The  soul  of  gifts  he  can  dispense; 

Mark  well  to  whom  he  gives: 
He  smiles,  and  wounded  innocence 

Looks  up — revives,  and  lives. 


74  POEMS. 


His  whisper  reaches  ev'ry  ear 

From  insect  up  to  God: 
The  nations  all,  his  voice  will  hear— 

The  guilty  feel  his  rod. 

What  mean  those  accents  swelling  high? 

His  words  in  thunders  roll: 
A  trembling  shakes  the  earth  and  sky — 

'Tis  felt  from  pole  to  pole. 

His  finger  on  injustice  laid, 

He  casts  a  with 'ring  frown; 
And  grasps  his  sword  with  sharpen 'd  blade. 

And  cuts  oppression  down. 

Who  is  this  noble  champion,  who, 

Alike  in  age  and  youth? 
I  love  him,  tho'  his  friends  are  few: 

His  name — I'll  speak  it:  Truth. 


POEMS.  75 


THE  GOD  I  WORSHIP. 

:  O  Lord  my   God,  thou  art    very    great :    thou    art 

eloWd  with  honor  and  majesty" — 
All  the  gods  of  the  nations  are  idols;   but  the  Lord 

made  the  heav'ns." 

Hebrew  Psalmist. 


Let  the  pagan  claim  for  his  god  of  war, 
An  unconscious  thing  on  a  stupid  car — 
Let  him  bless  the  leek  and  adore  the  cow, 
Or  before  the  Lama  of  Thibet  bow. 
Let  ambition's  dupes  to  its  altar  hold — 
Let  the  miser  boast  of  his  idol,  gold: 
And  let  pleasure's  votaries  sacrifice 
To  a  faithless  god,  for  a  doubtful  prize: 
And  let  all  that  bow  at  the  shrine  of  fame, 
Feed  their  hungry  god — 'tis  an  empty  name. 
Let  devout  sectarians  place  their  hearts 
On  a  god  without  passions,  form  or  parts — 
One  that  kindly  deign'd  in  the  days  of  yore 
To  converse  with  men,  but  will  speak  no  more. 

Ah!  they  cannot  boast  of  a  God  like  mine, 
In  whom  love  and  pow'r  in  perfection  shine. 
How  inferior  theirs,  when  compar'd  with;Him, 
The  Eternal  Father,  the  Great  Supreme? 


76  POEMS. 


He,  whose  wisdom  call'd  this  creation  forth, 
And  the  sons  of  men,  introduc'd  to  earth — 
He,  whose  finger  marks  ev'ry  ocean's  bound, 
While  he  moves  the  revolving  planets,  round — 
He,  that  "  holds  the  firmament  in  his  hand," 
While  tiie  seasons  yield  to  his  stern  command — 
Who,  in  human  form  sent  His  likeness  down, 
To  declare  himself,  and  his  love  make  known — 
That  unequal'd  love,  that  could  stoop  to  die, 
That  an  earthly  race  might  be  rais'd  on  high — 
Might  partake  the  streams  of  celestial  kind, 
From-the  fountains  of  the  Eternal  Mind: — 
He,  whose  noble  attributes  are  rife 
With  the  gifts  and  powers  of  an  endless  life — 
He,  who,  through  the  Priesthood,  has  kindly  giv'n 
To  his  saints,  a  pattern  of  things  in  heav'n; 
Who  has  also  giv'n  thro'  his  pow'r  and  grace, 
Both  Prophets  and  Seers  for  these  latter-days — 
Who,  the  laws  of  light  and  life  to  unfold, 
Is  conversing  now  as  in  days  of  old. 
He,  who  condescends  to  proclaim  his  will, 
And  unto  his  servants,  his  mind  reveal — 
He,  who  led  us  here,  to  these  peaceful  vales — 
He,  whose  loving  kindness  never  fails. 

There  is  none  beside,  I  would  call  my  own, 
For  the  Lord  is  God  and  He  alone. 


POEMS.  77 


OUR  RELIGION. 


Who  can  describe  its  worth?  It  is  all  worth. 
'Tis  perfect  in  its  parts  to  man  reveal'd; 
But  finite  understanding  cannot  reach 
Its  vast  infinitude—  its  lofty  height; 
And  yet,  in  man's  low,  frail  capacities, 
It  meets  him,  and  it  ministers  unto 
His  nature,  in  each  varied  circumstance. 

It  meets  him  in  his  vile,  degraded  state 
Of  sin  and  sorrow,  warrings,  toils  and  strifes; 
Where  passion  rules  him  while  ambition  goads, — 
Gives  him  control  o'er  his  own  fallen  self — 
The  vict'ry  over  evil  pow'rs  unseen, 
Which,  fiend-like,  oft  infest  the  atmosphere 
Of  this  degen'rate  world. 

It  gives  him,  too, 
The  vict'ry  over  Death — the  tyrant  Death — 
Disrobes  its  hand  of  all  its  terrors — turns 
Away  its  sting  and  gently  modifies 
Its  pain  and  bitterness.     It  kindly  lifts 
The  vail  which  hides  th'  eternal  world  from  view 
And  gives  man  access  to  the  heights  above: 
It  stirs  within  his  soul  the  inner  life, 
That  precious  germ  of  immortality, 


78  POEMS. 

With  wisdom,  knowledge,  hope,  joy,  peace  and  love, 

Quick'ning  the  fire  of  thought,  and  all  the  springs 

Of  consciousness;  endows  him  with  the  pow'r 

To  live  for  ever  and  for  ever  be 

In  form  and  feature  his  own  perfect  self — 

Imparts  the  keys  by  which  he  may  detect 

False  men,  false  messengers,  false  spirits  and 

False  everything,  and  ultimately  will 

Place  him  on  high,  enriching  him  with  thrones, 

With  principalities  and  pow'rs,  and  crown 

Him  with  the  gifts  and  pow'rs  of  endless  lives. 

"Pearl  of  great  price!"     'Tis  worth  all  sacrifice 
Of  this  world's  honor,  and  its  pride  of  life- 
Its  prejudice,  ambition,  and  self-love, 
With  all  their  kind.     'Tis  more  than  amply  wrorth 
Our  long  endurance  of  unnumber'd  ills, 
Heap'd  up  by  persecution's  clay-cold  hand. 

No  matter  what  or  how  things  come  and  go 
With  us  and  ours,  if  we  adhere  unto 
Our  pure  religion  and,  in  heart  and  life, 
Honor,  respect  and  cherish  it.     'Twill  lift 
Us  out  of  sorrow,  sickness,  poverty, 
Reproach,  injustice,  and  remove  from  us 
The  red-hot  lava  and  its  clouds  of  smoke, 
Which  roll  in  streams  from  Falsehood's  burning  pit. 

'   It  holds  the  heav'n-acknowledg'd  claim  on  Truth — 
All  Truth — all  truthfulness,  and  all  that's  true 
In  nature,  science,  policy  and  art: 
It  tests  and  circumscribes  all  creeds  and  all 


POEMS.  79 


Religions — knows  their  origin  and  sees, 
And  can  define  their  future  destinies. 

It  holds  the  present,  past  and  future  in 
A  link — connects  one  dispensation  with 
Another,  then  another,  and  so  on, 
Till  all  the  dispensations  that  are  past, 
Combin'd,  comprise  the  fullness  of  our  own. 

'Tis  of  high  origin.     'Tis  not  a  thing 
Of  earth.    Its  home  is  in  the  bosom  of 
The  Holy  ones — 'tis  self -existent  and 
Coeval  with  th'  Eternal  Deity. 


"TO  BE,  OR  NOT  TO  BE." 


To  be  a  Saint,  or  not  to  be, 
Is  ev'ry  one's  prerogative 

To  choose. — If  from  volition  free, 
You  make  your  choice,  that  nobly  live. 

The  feint  of  doing  things  by  halves, 
Is  worse  than  doing  not  at  all : 

Can'st  worship  God  and  golden  calves? 
Bear  Jesus'  cross,  with  satan's  pall? 

Will  God  and  mammon,  be  allied? 
Can  Jesus  Christ  and  Baal  unite? 


80  POEMS. 

Will  truth  and  falsehood  coincide, 
Or  darkness  propagate^ the  light? 

Then,  wherefore  think  with  mockery, 
Or  base  deception  to  prevail? 

Why  bend  to  God  the  fait' ring  knee, 
And  yield  the  heart  and  hand  to  Baal? 

Why,  smiling,  gaze  upon  the  cloud, 
Which,  gathering,  forms  the  deadly  blast? 

Why,  tamper  with  the  coiling  shroud, 
Till  in  its  folds  it  binds  you  fast? 

Who  waits  the  thunder's  voice  to  tell 
Of  the  fierce  lightning's  fatal  stream? 

Or  trusts  th'  enchantress'  fairy  spell 
T'  avert  the  lifted  poniard's  gleam? 

Rise,  trim  your  lamps  and  make  them  bright- 
Keep  ev'ry  thought  and  eye  awake: 

Gird  on  your  armor,  for  the  fight — 
Truth,  freedom,  virtue,  are  at  stake. 

You  who  indulge  in  carnal  ease, 
Awaken  from  your  treach'rous  sleep, 

Rise — ev'ry  post  of  duty  seize, 
And  sacred,  ev'ry  coy'nant  keep. 

When  God  a  crucible  prepares, 
It  burns  with  dross  consuming  heat: 

His  threshing  floor  will  waste  the  tares, 
But  He'll  preserve  the  precious  wheat. 


POEMS.  81 


WHAT  IS,  AND  WHAT  IS  NOT  FOR  WOMAN. 


'Tis  not  for  her  to  plough  the  deep, 

And  gather  pearls  from  ocean's  bed; 
Or  scale  the  rugged  mountain's  steep, 

For  laurel  wreaths  to  deck  her  head. 
She  gathers  pearls  of  other  name 

Than  those  the  ocean's  bosom  yields — 
Fair  laurels  never  known  to  fame, 

She  culls  from  wisdom Is  golden  fields : 

'Tis  not  for  her  to  face  the  foe 

Amid  the  cannon's  thund'ring  blaze; 
Or  shudder  at  the  winds  that  Jblow 

Tremenduous  gales  in  torrid  seas. 
But  there  are  f oes^of  other^f orm — 

Of  other  aspect,  she  should /m ell; 
And  whisper  music  to  the  storm, 

When  seas  of  passion  rudely  swell. 

'Tis  not  for  her  to  lead  the  van — 
To  be  ensconced  in  Chair  of  State, 

To  legislate  'twixt  man  and  man — 

^Nations  and  laws  to  regulate. 

'Tis  hers  to  fan  the  sacred  fire 
Of  manhood's  true  nobility — 

The  heart  of  nations  to  inspire 
With  patriotism  and  liberty. 


82  POEMS. 


'Tis  hers,  with  heav'nly  influence 
To  wield  a  mighty  power  divine — 

To  shield  the  path  of  innocence 
And  virtue's  sacred  worth  define. 

'Tis  hers  to  cultivate  the  germs 
Of  all  the  faculties  for  good, 

That  constitute  the  Godlike  forms 

Of  perfect  man  and  womanhood. 

'Tis  hers  the  sunbeam  to  sustain 
Amid  misfortune's  chilling  breath — 

To  silence  grief — to  solace  pain — 

^  To  soothe  and  cheer  the  bed  of  death. 

His  pathway  in  the  battle  lies — 
He  should  not  fear  the  raging  flood: 

Give  man  the  breast-plate  courage  plies, 
But  give  to  woman,  fortitude, 


THE  GRAVE. 


'Tis  a  shadowy  region,  where  close  in  retreat, 
A  dispassionate  people  unconsciously  meet. 
Its  pale  nations  are  quiet — exempted  from  care — 
No  unhallowed  ambition  intrudes  itself  there. 
There's  no  thirst  for  dominion — no  envy  of  gain — 
No  vain  strife  for  preferment  to  rankle  the  brain. 


POEMS.  83 


There  bright  crowns  lose  their  lustre,  and  sceptres 
decay: 
There  the  slave  drops  his  fetter — the  tyrant  his  sway: 
Power  loses  its  terror  and  wisdom  its  charm — 
Fame  erases  its  signet,  and  beauty  its  form. 

'Tis  a  land  of  deep  silence,  envelop'd  in  gloom: 
No  soft  accents  of  music  enliven  the  tomb : 
'Tis  a  dark  lonely  defile,  which  none  can  evade; 
But  however  unsocial,  there's  light  in  its  shade, 
Since  its  all  pow'rful  Conqueror  explor'd  its  domain, 
And  dissolv'd  its  enchantments,  by  rising  again. 

There's  a  time-tide  at  midnight,  that  flows  to  the 
dawn, 
And  a  track  on  the  desert  where  others  have  gone— 
There's  a  path  in  the  forest,  which    footsteps  have 

made, 
And  a  voice  in  the  thicket,  directs  to  the  glade — 
There's  a  light  on  the  ocean,  ascends  to  the  sky, 
And  the  Grave  is  life's  conduit  to  mansions  on  high. 


THE  TATTLER. 


It  has  been  said  by  some,  that  woman*  heart 
Should  never  hate. 

I  know,  the  placid  wreath 
Of  gentleness,  is  beautiful  upon 


84  POEMS. 


The  female  brow;  and  that  the  pure,  white  wand 

Of  innocence,  by  woman  wielded,  has 

A  salutary  potency,  that's  far 

Superior  to  arbitrary  power — 

That  in  her  bosom,  love's  sweet  mellow  tones 

Are  more  congenial  to  the  sphere  which  heav'n 

Design'd  for  her;  than  hatred's  bitterness. 

I  know  the  worth  of  woman's  rectitude: 
It  is  the  fairest  gem  upon  the  crest 
Of  social  life:  and  I  would  not  presume 
To  step  beyond  the  sacred  halo  of 
Propriety:    But  there's  one  character 
I  even  dare  to  hate.    And  e'en  in  this 
Age  of  effeminacy,  is  there  who 
Would  say — would  think  it  is  a  crime  to  hate 
The  Tattler,  whose  unhallow'd  business  seems, 
To  wake  up  nonsense  and  to  stir  up  strife? 

And  after  all,  I  feel  my  heart  relax, 
And  pity  is  preponderating  in 
My  breast.    I  pity  ev'ry  human  form, 
Degraded  with  that  most  detestable, 
And  mo>t  ignoble  trait.    Whose  head  is  but 
A  vacuum  where  vanity  presides, 
And  sits  enthron'd  o'er  pompous  nothingness: 
Where,  if  reflection  chance  to  come,  she  finds 
No  seat — no  resting  place— no  lamp  to  shine 
Upon  her  path:  but  like  a  traveler, 
When  lost  in  some  dark  spacious  catacomb, 
Amid  the  mould'ring  heaps,  to  stumble  o'er 


POEMS.  85 


Unconscious  matter,  without  path  or  guide; 
She's  lost  in  everlasting  hopelessness. 

Wretched  propensity — and  wretched  the 
Possessor  of  this  bane  of  social  life! 
Whose  soul,  if  soul  is  there  at  all;  must  be 
Unto  non-entity  so  near  allied, 
As  to  require  a  microscopic  pow'r 
To  swell  it  into  visibility. 

But  while  I  pity  the  possessor,  if 
I  should  not  hate,  I  surely  may  despise 
The  character,  the  mean  propensity, 
'Tis  falsehood's  vehicle,  and  slander's  tool 
To  throw  dark  shadows  over  innocence, 
And  magnify  misfortune  into  fault. 
It  often  serpentinely  creeps  into 
The  sanctuary  of  domestic  life, 
And  with  the  sacred  key  of  confidence, 
Draws  out  the  secrets  of  the  drawing  room, 
And  puts  thern  on  the  morning  breeze  afloat. 

I  hope  I  never  shall  commit  a  crime 
Of  such  enormous  magnitude,  as  to 
Subject  me  to  endure  that  frown  of  heav'n, 
The  torment  of  the  Tattler's  senseless  tongue. 

I'd  rather  live  in  solitude,  amid 
The  deep  impervious  wilds,  and  listen  to 
The  silent  speech  of  Nature;  and  regale 
My  spirit  with  the  music  of  the  breeze. 


86  POEMS. 


HINTS  AT  MATTERS  OF  FACT  IN  UTAH. 


Say,  have  we  "fall'n  on  evil  times  " — a  day 
When  Inquisitions  hold  assumptive  sway? 
When  law  and  equity  are  thrust  aside, 
And  ermin'd  cliques  o'er  right  and  justice  ride? 

What  strange  absurdity  'twixt  church  and  state, 
When  a  Chief  Justice  claims  to  legislate 
In  men's  religious  faith — whether  express'd, 
Or  pent  within  the  brain,  and  non-confess'd? 
When,  for  opinion's  sake,  men  must  be  shrived 
And  of  the  right  of  cit'zenship  deprived! 

Say,  who  would  pillage,  rob,  or  steal  your  purse? 
Yet  thrusts  at  consciences  are  grossly  worse. 

Mob  raids— judicial  raids — whatever  name 
May  be  applied,  all  raids  are  much  the  same; 
Altho'  an  outrage  might  seem  more  polite 
Committed  in  the  day,  than  in  the  night. 

When  human  legislation  seeks  to  grind 
The  conscience,  and  religion's  form  to  bind; 
We're  fearless  of  results,  for  God  o'errules 
The  acts  of  men — the  wicked  are  but  tools 
To  fill  a  purpose  in  these  latter  days, 
For  e'en  the  wrath  of  man  shall  work  His  praise: 
The  wicked  shall  destroy  the  wicked  when 
His  vial'd  wrath  is  pour'd  on  guilty  men. 


POEMS.  87 


To  us,  as  advocates  of  freedom's  cause, 
And  loyal  subjects  to  all  legal,  laws, 
'Tis  surely  no  soul-pride-inspiring  thing, 
That  magistrates  are  leagued  with  "  whiskey  ring," 
And  thus  degrade  the  umpire  form'd  to  be 
A  safeguard  to  our  peace  and  liberty. 

Can  honor's  badge — can  honor's  titles  screen 
Dishonor's  deeds  and  motives  false  and  mean? 

Though  high  officials  prostitute  their  power — 
Like  vampires,  peace  and  liberty  devour; 
Shall  we  the  Constitution's  Rights  forego? 
Truth;  Justice,  Honor,  Freedom,  answer  NO. 

Truth's  mighty  engine  plac'd  upon  the  track 
By  God's  decree,  no  power  can  force  it  back. 
What!    Stay  Truth's  onward  progress?    No!    As  soon 
Extinguish  yonder  sun— blot  out  the  moon- 
Remove  earth  from  her  orbit,  and  remove 
The  constellations  from  the  arch  above; 
As  well  apply  a  puny,  finite  force 
To  stop  the  planets  in  their  brilliant  course: 
As  well  might  moles  and  bats  the  light  defy, 
And  seek  to  pluck  the  sunbeams  from  the  sky. 

Truth's  cause  will  triumph  over  all  the  powers 
Of  earth  and  hell.    Ye  Saints,  HIS  cause  is  ours. 
1876. 


88  POEMS. 


HOW  70  LEAVES  US  AND  HOW  71  FINDS  US. 


Time  makes  no  pauses:     Each  incoming  year 
Must  shoulder  what  its  predecessor  doffs. 

This  is  an  age  of  lightning,  gas  and  steam — 
An  age  of  progress,  energy  and  skill: 
When  man  aspires  to  wield  the  elements 
To  his  advantage. 

Proud  in  his  success, 
He  claims  the  honor  of  the  triumph.     God, 
Source  of  all  good— of  wisdom,  science,  art, 
Gets  little  credit  for  his  gifts  bestowed. 

The  intellectual  progress  of  the  age 
Outstrips  accountability;  and  men 
Let  fall  the  moral  lever  from  their  grasp; 
And  infidelity  and  wickedness 
Keep  even  pace  with  march  of  intellect. 
Respect  foi  justice,  truth,  integrity 
And  honesty,  at  heavy  discount  stands. 

The  great  hereafter,  man's  eternal  all, 
Is  by  the  wholesale  on  the  altar  laid ! 
For  what?    To  gratify  the  passions,  and 
The  eager — all  engrossing  thirst  for  gold. 

Truth,  honor,  manhood  and  nobility — 
True  confidence,  the  royal  pedestal 


POEMS.  89 

Of  life's  choice  blessing,  social  happiness, 
With  sweet  affection's  fond  endearments  in 
Domestic  life— the  bliss  of  loving  and 
Of  being  loved  in  faith  and  purity, 
Are  sacrificed  to  passion,  and  for  wealth! 

In  this  fast  age  of  double-motive  power, 
Theft,  murder,  robbery,  infanticide 
And  foeticide,  foul  crimes,  ignore  restraint; 
While  prostitution,  life's  most  damning  sin, 
Stalks  forth  in  tolerating  Christendom, 
With  sin's  infectious,  vile  increase,  despite 
The  many  noble  efforts  to  suppress 
It.    Woman  now,  in  fearful  numbers  falls 
A  prey  to  man's  base  passions — men  who  spurn 
Pure  matrimony's  sacred  altar — men 
Who  perjure  every  holy  vow:  and  yet 
They  boast  of  virtue,  faith  and  sanctity. 
Such  are  the  men  who  would  obliterate 
The  heav'n  taught  principle  of  woman's  right — 
The  universal  right — not  of  a  few 
More  favor'd  ones;  but  sacred  right  of  all, 
To  holy,  honorable  wedlock. 

God 
Has  introduced  the  pattern;  by  His  law 
Women  can  fill  the  measure  of  their  lives 
In  virtue,  honor  and  respectability: 
And  to  themselves,  by  holy  rite  reveal 'd, 
Secure  in  time,  for  all  eternity, 
Men  who  are  true  to  nature  and  to  God. 


90  POEMS. 


If  those  who're  advocating  "Woman's  Rights," 
Will  plead  the  right  of  wedlock  for  the  sex, 
Till  public  sentiment  shall  guarantee, 
What  God  and  nature  recognize  her  right — 
The  bonds  of  matrimony,  legally 
Performed,  and  sacredly  respected,  with 
Virtue  inviolate,  they'll  win  a  meed 
Of  everlasting  gratitude  and  praise. 


War  is  comprised  in  the  dark  catalogue 
Of  growing  evils.     Europe's  purple  streams 
Now  flowing,  moan  o'er  Christian  nations  joined 
In  mutual  slaughter — legal  butchery: 
Is  this  Christianity?    Are  these  the  fruits 
Of  the  pure  gospel  of  the  Son  of  God? 
Bogus  Christianity  and  bogus  faith! 
Worse  than  alloy — 'tis  a  base  counterfeit 
Of  that  establish'd  by  the  Prince  of  Peace. 

But  wholesale  murder,  war,  is  much  in  vogue: 
Who  slaughters  most,  the  brightest  laurels  gains; 
And  lightning  messages  with  pride  announce 
"Brilliant  suceess,"  and  "Splendid  victories." 
Poor  fall'n  humanity!    Oh,  how  demoralized! 

If  mans  existence  ended  here — if  this 
Were  all  of  life  allotted;  little  would 
It  matter  how  or  when  it  comes  and  goes, 
And  how  'tis  husbanded:  but  this  is  but 
A  speck,  compared  with  life  hereafter:  yet 
'Tis  freighted  with  eternal  consequence. 


POEMS.  91 


In  Utah,  God  has  formed  a  nucleus 
Of  peace  and  virtue — a  pure  government. 
'Tis  Heaven's  own  kingdom— God  himself  the  King. 

It  was  forshadow'd  in  the  visions  of 
The  ancient  prophets.    Daniel  saw  it,  and 
Plainly  predicted  whence  it  would  go  forth, 
To  conquer  Satan's  reign  and  rill  the  earth. 

Then  wars  shall  cease,  and  men  shall  beat  their  swords 
To  plowshares,  and  to  pruning  hooks  their  spears, 
And  learn  the  cruel  art  of  war  no  more. 

Th'  almighty  God  has  said  it,  and  the  time, 
His  own  set  time  has  come;   and  He  has  made 
His  people's  feet  fast  in  these  mountain  vales, 
For  this  great,  grand  and  glorious  purpose,  which 
Not  all  the  powers  of  earth  and  hell  combined 
Can  frustrate.     God  is  at  the  helm,  and  He 
Will  have  a  tried  and  faithful  people,  who 
Will  do  his  bidding,  and  co-operate 
With  Him  and  with  each  other,  to  sustain 
His  kingdom,  and  inaugurate  the  reign 
Of  everlasting  righteousness  and  peace. 


92  POEMS. 


OURSELVES  AND  OUR  ENEMIES. 


We'll  beat  our  foes  at  every  game, 

If  every  game  we  play: 
No  juggling  part  we  act  or  claim — 

We'll  fairly  win  the  day. 
We've  sought  no  trial  of  our  skill — 

The  games,  we  never  set — 
We  never  made  a  move  until 

They  forced  the  movement,  yet. 

Those  who  salvation's  truth  believe, 

But  love  to  disobey — 
Who  have  eternal  light  received, 

And  from  its  precepts  stray; 
Now  cherish  wickedness:  their  hearts 

Are  fountains  of  deceit: 
Apostate  "  Mormons,"  in  foul  parts, 

The  world's  low  gamesters,  beat. 

Of  all  the  Apostle  Paul  endured, 

His  perils  were  the  worst, 
When  with  apostate  saints  of  God, 

"False  brethren,"  he  was  cursed: 
The  gospel,  like  the  fisher's  net, 

Cast  in  the  open  sea, 
Both  good  and  bad,  at  every  set, 

Draws  up  promiscuously. 


POEMS.  93 

Then  marvel  not,  ye  demagogues, 

Who're  making  much  ado, 
If  you  by  searching,  here,  should  find 

Some  even  worse  than  you : 
Extremes  in  human  life,  must  meet, 

To  form  a  moral  test; 
To  make  gradation's  scale  complete, 

We've  here  the  ivoi^st  and  best. 

We've  women  whose  intelligence — 

Whose  loveliness  and  grace 
And  virtues  cannot  be  surpassed 

In  all  earth's  present  race: 
With  honest  frankness  we  confess, 

We  have  their  contrast  too, 
But  thanks  to  God  and  righteousness, 

The  number  is  but  few. 

And  we  have  men  by  God  inspired, 

And  clothed  with  power  to  bless — 
Their  hearts  with  noble  purpose  fired — 

Their  works  are  righteousness: 
They  teach  the  principles  of  peace, 

Life,  faith  and  purity; 
By  which  the  pure  in  heart  increase 

In  truth  and  liberty. 

High-toned  in  spirit — in  their  lives 

They're  far  above  reproach — 
They're  just,  and  who  should  justice  fear, 

But  those  who  wish  t'  encroach? 


94  POEMS. 

All  men  stand  label'd  by  themselves— 
The  actions  prove  the  heart — 

The  wicked  deal  in  wickedness — 
The  righteous,  good  impart. 

Though  storm-clouds  gather  over  head, 

And  sharks  the  crew  assail — 
Though  obstacles  so  thickly  spread 

That  coward  hearts  will  fail; 
Come  wind  or  calm,  'tis  all  the  same — 

No  matter  what  betide, 
We,  fearless,  know  the  Great  I  AM 

Has  pledg'd  the  ship  to  guide. 

He  needs  no  sails  for  Zion's  ship; 

Our  foes  may  pause  and  wonder — 
They  move  us  on  at  every  clip, 

And  row  their  own  crafts  under. 
They're  tools  in  God  Almighty's  hand, 

To  drive  His  work  apace  — 
To  clear  the  ship  from  every  strand; 

Their  wrath  shall  work  His  praise. 

Of  our  own  strength  we  do  not  boast — 

Jehovah  is  our  trust; 
The  Saints  are  His— His  wisdom  rules— 

His  arm  protects  the  just. 
Truth,  peace  and  equity  will  claim 

The  prize  of  latter-day; 
We'll  beat  the  world  at  every  game, 

If  every  game  we  play. 


POEMS.  95 


A  VOICE  FROM  UTAH. 


Think  you  our  nation  is  improving?    Hush! 
Or  stern  realities  will  make  you  blush. 

Look  here  in  Utah  where  the  President, 
A  juggling  class  of  ermin'd  tools,  has  sent; 
To  serve  the  people's  interest?    J¥o  such  thing! 
They  came  to  serve  themselves:  a  paltry  uring" — 
To  stir  up  strife — those  sacred  rights  to  sever 
Which  our  great  Constitution  grants  us  ever. 
They  came  for  pelf — to  feed  their  hungry  purses 
With  the  hard  earnings  nature's  hand  disburses 
To  honest  industry  and  ardent  toil; 
They  came  with  greedy  hands  to  take  a  spoil; 
They  came  fair  virtue's  bulwark  to  destroy, 
And  desolate  the  homes  where  peace  and  joy 
And  holy  confidence  had  long  abided, 
And  sacred  loyality  in  truth  confided: 
They  came — their  actions  show  for  what  they  came, 
And  to  the  nation  they're  a  burning  shame, 
Unless  the  nation  widely  has  withdrawn 
From  the  grand  pedestal  it  stood  upon. 

Where  is  the  truthful  dignity,  O  where! 
That  legal  functionaries  used  to  wear? 
Where  is  the  moral  rectitude  that  guided 
Judicial  acts,  when  honest  men  presided? 


96  POEMS. 

All  facts  are  stubborn,  unrelenting  things, 
And  facts  will  speak  in  spite  of  serfs  or  kings; 
And  Time's  impartial  verdict  will  report 
All  facts,  verbatim,  in  th'  Imperial  Court. 

Why,  in  the  name  of  good  old  common  sense, 
Should  jurisprudence  don  a  base  pretense? 
Has  Grant  no  better  stuff  at  his  command — 
No  higher  priced  material  on  hand? 
Has  Government  no  better  class  to  give, 
And  force  the  Territory  to  receive? 
If  so,  our  nation's  value  is  expended 
And  her  career  of  glory  nearly  ended. 

Mark  well,  when  statesmen  circumvent  the  claims 
Of  equal  rights,  to  serve  perfidious  aims: 
Corrupt  Executives  precede  a  fall — 
They  write  the  "  Mene  Tekel"  on  the  wall. 

When  public  offices  are  bought  and  sold — 
When  jurors'  verdicts  are  the  price  of  gold — 
When  men  devoid  of  moral  rectitude, 
Shall  be  intrusted  with  the  people's  good— 
When  right  of  conscience  stands  in  jeopardy, 
"  Death's  in  the  pot,"  and  breakers  on  the  lee. 

Let  her  proud  flag  float  half-mast  from  its  spires, 
When  Freedom's  altars  dim  their  glowing  fires. 

S.  L.  City,  1875, 


POEMS.  97 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  GOD. 


The  kingdom  of  God  is  a  kingdom  of  Order, 

With  life  in  the  heart  and  with  power  in  the  head: 

With  each  member  in  place,  the  whole  body  is  perfect: 
Gradation  existed  when  Order  was  made. 

Chorus. 
The  kingdom  of  God  is  a  kingdom  of  Glory — 

A  kingdom  of  Righteousness — happy  and  free: 
With  Prophets,  Apostles — with  Statesmen  and  War- 
riors: 
The  kingdom  of  God  is  the  kingdom  for  me. 

The  kingdom  of  God  is  a  kingdom  of  Power: 
In  the  midst  of  oppression  its  sinews  have  grown: 

All  people  who  fight  against  Zion  will  perish — 
To  tread  on  her  peace  is  to  forfeit  their  own. 

Chorus— The  kingdom,  etc. 

"  The  feet  of  the  image,  the  clay  and  the  iron," 
The  kingdom  of  God,  into  pieces  will  break; 

The  "  brass  and  the  silver  "  will  also  be  broken: 
Earth's    nations    shall  tremble  —  her  kingdoms 
shall  shake. 

Chorus — The  kingdom,  etc. 

* 

_ 


j  POEMS. 

The  kingdom  of  God  is  a  kingdom  of  Mercy, 
Where  the  fountains  of  charity  flow  without  guile — 

Where  law-detained  captives  are  treated  with  kindness, 
And  penitence'  hand  is  received  with  a  smile. 

Chorus— The  kingdom,  etc. 

The  kingdom  of  God  is  a  kingdom  of  Justice, 
Where  Kights  are  secured  to  the  great  and  the  small— 

Where  judicial  decisions  are  wise  and  impartial — 
Where  truth  is  the  sceptre,  extended  to  all. 

Chorus— The  kingdom,  etc. 

The  kingdom  of  God  is  a  kingdom  of  Valor— 
The  warriors  of  Israel  are  valiant  and  brave: 

They  quail  not  in  war,  and  they  shrink  not  in  danger — 
O'er  them  and  their  Temples,  bright  banners  will 
wave. 

Chorus — The  kingdom,  etc. 

The  kingdom  of  God  is  a  kingdom  of  Conquest, 
To  which  every  knee  of  all  nations  must  bow; 

For  the  law  of  the  Lord  will  go  forth  from  Mount 
Zion— 
His  word  will  go  forth  from  Jerusalem  too. 

Chorus— The  kingdom,  etc. 

The  kingdom  of  God  holds  the  keys  of  Salvation 
For  life  that  is  now,  and  the  lives  yet  to  be; 

With  the  gifts  and  the  powers  of  Eternal  Progression 
Of  kingdoms  in  kingdoms,  eternally  free. 
Chorus— The  kingdom,  etc. 


POEMS.  99 


THE  FOUNTAIN  AND  STREAMS  OF  LIFE. 


Pure  is  life's  fountain— pure  the  Eternal  Source 
From  whence  the  streamlets  take  their  varied  course- 
Pure  and  unsullied  as  the  burning  zone, 
That  with  bright  glory,  belts  Jehovah's  throne. 

From  that  pure  fountain,  endless  currents  flow; 
From  world  to  world;  meandering  down  they  go 
To  earth,  where  sin  diffuses  pois'nous  breath, 
And  through  life's  channels,  plants  the  seeds  of  death. 

God  is  the  fountain. — He  th'  eternal  mart — 
The  ocean-spring  from  which  all  life-rills  start; 
Pure  as  His  Spirit,  life,  from  Him  came  forth, 
Until,  by  man,  corrupted  on  the  earth. 

Little  by  little,  sin  and  empire  gain'd, 

Until  disorder,  vice  and  folly  reign'd;  • 

And,  fill'd  with  vile  degeneration's  stuff, 

Life  and  its  issues  are  impure  enough. 

Nought  but  Omnipotence'  almighty  force 
Could  stay  the  ebbing  current  in  its  course: 
'Twas  sin's  dark  tide  that  ebb'd  life's  currents  low; 
The  Priesthood  comes — henceforth  the  tides  must  flow. 


100  POEMS. 


Regeneration  now  is  on  the  track, 

To  cleanse  the  streams  of  life,  and  bring  them  back: 

The  proper  channel  gain'd — however  slow, 

Life  now  is  moving  in  an  upward  flow. 

Howe'er  impure  the  streams  of  life  may  be, 
The  Priesthood's  channel  tends  to  purity, 
Till,  through  the  resurrection,  pure  and  broad 
Life's  mighty  rivers  skirt  the  throne  of  God. 


I  AM  THY  CHILD. 


Our  God,  our  Father  and  our  Friend — 

God  of  Eternity; 
To  Thine  abode,  my  thoughts  ascend— 

My  spirit  pants  for  Thee. 

I  am  Thy  child  and  lawful  heir 
To  all  that's  good  and  great; 

Jointly,  with  Jesus  Christ,  to  share 
Thy  rich,  immense  estate. 

I  am  Thy  child,  and  what,  to  me, 

Is  all  the  glittering  show 
Of  this  world's  transient  royalty, 

Beset  with  care  and  woe? 


POEMS.  101 


I  am  Thy  child,  and  Thou  hast  given 

A  law  of  purity, 
By  which  I'll  wend  my  way  to  heaven, 

And  dwell  again  with  Thee. 

To  think — to  feel — to  know  I'm  Thine, 
Through  every  fibre  thrills; 

And  with  a  glow  of  life  divine, 
Each  pulse  of  nature  fills. 

To  Thee  belongs  the  sweetest  praise 
Expressed  by  human  tongue — 

To  Thee,  the  most  exalted  lays, 
By  pure  immortals  sung. 

I  am  Thy  child:  let  me  discern 
Thy  footsteps  as  they  move: 

Help  me,  through  faithfulness,  to  earn 
A  fulness  of  Thy  love. 


MAN  CAPABLE  OF  HIGHER  DEVELOPMENTS. 


Man's  tide  of  existence  is  fearfully  chang'd — 
From  God,  and  from  nature,  how  widely  estrang'd! 
Vice,  dandled  by  custom,  mocks  nature's  designs, 
And  existence  decreases  where  virtue  declines. 


102  POEMS. 

We  wake  into  being — How  helpless  at  birth! 
How  short,  at  the  longest,  our  visit  on  earth! 
Too  short  to  develop  (we  merely  begin) 
The  germ  of  the  Deity,  planted  within. 

As  a  father  transmits  from  the  father  to  son, 
So  God,  our  Creator,  our  Father  has  done: 
There's  no  attribute,  God  in  his  glorified  form, 
Possesses,  but  man,  too,  inherits  the  germ. 

Though  frail  and  imperfect,  unlearn'd  and  unwise, 
We're  endowed  with  capacities  needful  to  rise 
From  our  embryo  state,  onward,  upward— at  leugth, 
To  a  fulness  of  knowledge— of  wisdom  and  strength. 

Man  becomes  his  own  agent,  with  freedom  to  choose, 
With  pow'r  to  accept  and  with  pow'r  to  refuse; 
With  a  future  before  him,  the  sequel  of  life, 
To  which  this  is  a  preface  with  consequence  rife. 

He  may  learn  how  to  strengthen  this  life's  feeble 
chain, 
And  redeem  the  longevity  man  should  obtain — 
Develop  capacity,  greatness  and  worth, 
By  improving  himself  and  improving  the  earth. 

He  should  squander  no  talent,  no  health  and  no  time; 
All,  all  is  important— age,  manhood  and  prime: 
As  we  sow  we  shall  reap — what  we  earn  we'll  receive — 
We'll  be  judged  by  our  works,  not  by  what  we  believe. 

We  now  lay  the  foundations  for  what  we  shall  be, 
For  life's  current  extends  to  Eternity's  sea; 


POEMS.  103 

Whatever  ennobles,  debases,  refines, 
Around  our  hereafter,  an  impress  entwines. 

We're  the  offspring  of  God:  Shall  we  stoop  to  degrade 
The  form  which  at  first  in  His  image  was  made? 
To  honor  our  beings  and  callings,  while  here, 
Secures  an  admission  to  life's  higher  sphere. 

In  the  likeness  of  Deity,  gracefully  formed, 
With  His  own  noble  attributes,  richly  adorned; 
For  a  grand  immortality,  man  is  designed- 
Perfected  in  body— perfected  in  mind. 


LIFE'S  COMPOUNDS. 


Our  life  abounds  with  mingled  light  and  shade — 
The  good  and  evil  mix  in  ev'ry  grade; 
Full  oft  the  bitter  and  the  sweet  combine, 
And  prickly  thorns,  with  fragrant  roses  twine — 
Thistles  commingle  oft  with  lovely  flowers, 
And  coiling  serpents  bask  in  pleasure's  bowers. 

The  Saints  of  God,  themselves  to  prove, 

And  on  the  earth  prepare, 
To  enter  royal  courts  above, 

And  dwell  in  glory  there, 


104  POEMS. 


Must  both  the  light  and  darkness  view — 

Sunshine  and  tempest  meet: 
Must  taste  the  good  and  evil  too— 

The  bitter  and  the  sweet. 

It  matters  not  what  ills  we  may  surmount, 
If  we  but  turn  them  all  to  good  account: 
If  we  draw  honey  like  the  "Deseret" 
From  all  the  pois'nous  things  our  paths  beset. 
And  if  we  pattern  from  the  bee, 
We'll  treasure  for  Eternity, 
Some  real  good — some  precious  sweet 
From  everv  circumstance  we  meet. 

Whate'er  of  the  substance  of  earth  we  lay  by, 
Like  the  dew  of  the  morning,  is  subject  to  fly: 
Be  it  little  or  much,  what  experience  we  gain, 
Let  us  go  where  we  will  we  are  sure  to  retain. 

If  kings  and  queens  we  ever  rise  to  be, 
Thro'outthe  changes  of  Eternity, 
'Tis  well  for  us,  while  here  in  time  to  learn 
To  know  ourselves,  and  others  to  discern. 

To  study  the  dealings  and  ways  of  the  Lord 
In  each  passing  occurrence  of  life, 

To  each  student,  will  yield  a  prolific  reward, 
With  wisdom's  best  precedents,  rife. 

See  that  lean  miser,  whose  sparse,  meagre  board 
Weeps  with  starvation  o'er  his  glitt'ring  hoard; 
His  soul  absorb 'd,  his  future  gains  to  plan, 
Holds  no  kind  fellowship  for  fellow  man— 


POEMS.  105 


His  wither'd  heart,  unstamp'd  in  friendship's  mould, 
Bears  no  affinity  to  aught  but  gold. 

At  length  the  call  is  issued  from  on  high — 
In  spite  of  all  his  riches,  he  must  die; 
Naked,  and  poor  as  Job — of  all  bereft — 
All  the  hard  earnings  of  his  life  are  left; 
Having  bestow'd  no  treasures  on  his  mind, 
He  goes  and  leaves  his  wealth — his  all,  behind, 
Except  to  know  that  he  has  played  the  fool; 
And  now,  the  ignoramus  goes  to  school. 

See  the  vain  butterfly  that  courted  show — 
Fluttering  and  dazzling  here  awhile  below: 
Death  came — it  metamorphos'd  her — she's  there — 
And  needs  a  microscope  to  show  us  where. 

What  is  life's  gaudy  splendor — its  pride  and  its  show? 
They  are  just  like  the  bubbles  that  burst  as  they  go: 
And  what  are  the  honors  the  world  applauds  high? 
Things  ready  to  perish — they  live  but  to  die. 

If  substantial  happiness  we  would  win, 
Not  to  come  and  to  go,  as  the  tide; 

We  must  plant  the  principle  deep  within, 
And  cherish'd  the  gem  will  abide. 

And  God  has  kindly  given  to  us  a  law, 
By  which  we  may  sweet  consolation  draw, 
From  scenes  of  sadnes,  sorrow  and  distress— 
From  all  the  ills,  which  heart  and  life  oppress. 
The  right  to  acknowledge  His  own  kind  hand, 

In  all  that  transpires  on  earth — 
This,  this  unto  those  who  can  understand, 

Is  a  boon  of  celestial  worth. 


106  POEMS. 

The  church  below, 

Satan  has  sought 

To  overthrow — 

To  bring  to  nought; 
But  ev'ry  evil  purpose  has  been  foiled — 
Aggressions,  on  aggressors,  have  recoiled. 

God  over-rules 

Malice  and  hate; 

Foes  are  but  tools 

To  make  us  great; 
All  who,  mid  fog  and  thunder,  will  be  wise, 
O'er  every  billow,  will  victorious  rise. 

Fear  and  alarm 

May  spread  abroad — 

Nothing  will  harm 

The  Saints  of  God. 
Those  who  are  Saints  of  God  in  very  deed, 
Will  find  a  present  help  in  time  of  need. 

Our  eye  to  the  mark,  we  must  steadily  keep, 
As  the  waves  of  change  roll  by; 

Like  a  well  steer' d  ship  on  the  mighty  deep, 
When  the  winds  and  seas  beat  high. 

With  God,  Himself,  at  the  helm,  to  steer— 
With  His  servants  side  by  side; 

The  storm  and  the  billows,  we  need  not  fear, 
For  the  ship  will  safely  ride. 

On,  onward,  in  spite  of  the  breakers  ahead, 
With  the  banner  of  life  unfurl 'd— 

With  all  truth  for  our  motto,  with  fearless  tread, 
We'll  march  at  the  head  of  the  world. 


POEMS.  107 


WHOM  I  PITY. 


I  pity  those  who  know  no  happiness, 
But  what  the  transient  things  of  earth  produce : 
Whose  servile  minds,  by  close  affinity, 
Seem  bound  to  the  low  sod  on  which  they  tread: 
And  whose  unstable  feelings,  like  the  waves 
Of  ocean;  rise  and  fall,  and  ebb  and  flow, 
With  every  up  and  down — with  ev'ry  change 
Of  circumstance. — Whose  present  weal  is  the 
Grand  fulcrum,  round  which  all  their  hopes  and  fears 
Are  moving  unremittingly.— Whose  joys 
And  sorrows  may  be  measured  by  their  loss 
And  gain  of  worldly  substance;  while  their  hearts, 
So  narrowly  drawn  up,  and  press'd  into 
The  stinted  centers  of  their  narrow  spheres; 
Seem  like  the  withered  buds  of  Spring,  too  soon 
Put  forth,  and  smitten  by  th'  untimely  frost. 

I've  wept  o'er  human  suff'ring,  when  I've  heard 
My  fellow  creatures  groan  beneath  the  weight 
Of  bodily  disease — when  nature  sank 
Exhausted — when  e'en  life  itself  became 
A  load  that  press'd  too  heavily  upon 
The  weak,  disorder'd  organs  of  the  frame. 

Such  evils  claim  our  sympathy;  yet  bear 
No  parallel  to  those  disorders  of 


108  POEMS. 


The  human  mind,  which  circumscribe  to  earth, 
The  sphere  of  human  intellect:  when  thought, 
Transfix'd  to  nether  objects,  never  soars 
Beyond  the  limits  of  the  present  life. 

I've  seen  the  young,  with  noble  pow'rs  of  mind, 
That  should  have  reach'd  to  heav'n;  low  stooping  down 
In  search  of  some  forbidden  key,  t'  unlock 
The  glitt'ring  heaps  that  Mammon's  coffers  hold. 

O  yes,  and  I  have  seen  the  aged  ones, 
Upon  whose  heads  the  silver  coronets, 
With  plain  inscriptions,  told  their  lengthen'd  years 
Were  hov'ring  o'er  the  margin  of  the  grave; 
Let  go  their  hold  of  future  blessedness, 
To  lay  their  trembling  grasp  more  firmly  on 
The  fleeting  treasures  of  departing  time. 

If  tears  could  ought  avail — could  tears  prevent 
Such  strange  perversions  of  the  gifts  bestow'd; 
I  would  exclaim, *like  one  of  ancient  time, 
"  Oh,  that  my  head  were  waters,  and  my  eyes 
A  fountain:"  and  I'd  weep — yes,  I  would  weep. 


POEMS.  109 


THE  YEAR  1871 


The  year  is  stepping  out,  regardless  of 
My  long,  long  distance  from  my  "Mountain  Home." 
It  leaves  me  in  Italia's  "  sunny  clime," 
Where  verdant  foliage,  gentle  breezes  kiss, 
And  balmy  zephyrs  fan  the  evening  tide. 

The  year  now  passing  out,  has,  in  its  course 
In  liberal  portions,  meted  out  to  me, 
The  wide  extremes  of  deep  bereavement,*  and 
Munificence  in  richly  flowing  streams, 
Which  I  acknowledge  freely,  ere  we  part. 

All  grateful  reminiscences,  the  old, 
Expiring  year  inscribes  indelibly 
On  mem'ry's  sacred  tablet,  richly  wreathed 
With  choice  mementos  of  the  good  produced — 
Of  vict'ries,  truth  and  justice  have  achieved — 
Improvement's  progress  in  the  march  of  mind, 
And  every  aid  to  poor  humanity  ; 
While  its  successor  treads  upon  its  heels. 

Good  bye,  old  year.    We  both  are  moving  on: 
You,  to  the  cloister  of  the  mighty  Past, 
To  join  it  to  the  future,  yet  unborn; 
I,  to  the  far-famed  land  of  Palestine, 


*  Referring  to  the  death  of  my  beloved  sister. 


110  POEMS. 


Which  has  a  history  of  the  past,  that  bears 
With  a  momentous  and  eternal  weight, 
Of  destiny  to  all  of  human  kind, 
Upon  the  future,  which  the  passing  years, 
With  hurried  tread,  ere  long  will  introduce 
With  bold,  magnificent  developments. 

I  go  to  place  my  feet  upon  the  land 
Where  once  the  Prince  of  Peace,  the  Son  of  God 
Was  born  —  where  once  He  lived  and  walked  and 

preached, 
And  prayed,  admonished,  taught,  rebuked  and  blest; 
And  then,  to  answer  Justice's  great  demand, 
And  seal  his  mission  of  Eternal  Love, 
Upon  the  cross  poured  out  his  precious  blood- 
Arose  to  life,  triumphant  o'er  the  tombj 
And  after  being  seen  and  heard  and  felt, 
Ascended  up  to  heav'n;  and,  as  He  went, 
Those  who  stood  looking,  heard  an  angel  say, 
"  Ye  men  of  Gallilee,  why  stand  ye  here 
Gazing  to  heaven  f     The  selfsame  Jesus,  whom 
Ye  see  ascending,  in  like  manner,  will 
Again  descend,'''' 

Each  year  that  passes  on, 
Clips  from  the  thread  of  time,  a  portion  of 
Its  intervening  length,  and  hurries  up 
The  coming  great  and  grand  fulfilment  of 
The  strange  prediction— strange,  and  true  as  strange. 

That  most  momentous  period  for  the  great 
Event,  is  fast  approximating,  and 


POEMS.  Ill 


The  moving  of  the  waters  now,  amidst 
The  nations  of  the  earth,  like  deepest  shades 
Of  pencil  drawings,  seems  foreshadowing 
The  world's  great  crisis. 

Human  policies 
Grow  tremulous;  while  human  governments, 
With  tender  care,  are  fondly  fostering, 
And  feeding  with  their  life's  best  nourishment, 
The  seeds  of  their  own  dissolution. 

France 
Is  poising  on  a  pivot.    England  rests 
On  her  broad  pedestal,  but  resting,  moves 
With  vaccillating  tendencies.    The  famed 
Italia,  stands  in  leaning  posture  from 
The  Papal  Chair  to  King  Emanuel; 
While  Russia,  beckoning  to  Austria — 
To  Germany,  or  whosoever  will, 
Solicits  aid  to  lift  the  balances 
Of  power,  now  lying  just  beyond  her  reach. 

The  wires  of  destiny  are  working  on, 
To  consummate  eternal  purposes, 
And  bring  results  of  change,  that  must  precede 
"  The  second  coming  of  the  Son  of  Man, 
When,  unto  Him,  "  whose  right  it  is  to  reign," 
All  human  powers  and  governments  will  bow. 

Milan,  Italy,  Jan.  1,  1873. 


112  POEMS. 


FLORENCE. 


Beneath  high,  villa-dotted  hills, 

That  in  succession  rise 
Like  rich,  gemmed  parapets  around, 

The  lovely  Florence  lies. 

The  Arno,  broad  and  gentle  stream, 
That  flows  meandering  through, 

Divides,  though  in  unequal  parts, 
The  city  plat,  in  two. 

I've  seen  its  princely  palaces 

Where  wealth  and  ease  reside- 
Where  independence  fills  her  sails 
With  luxury  and  pride. 

I  see  you,  Florence,  all  the  while, 

So  beautiful  and  gay, 
I  ask,  Is  this  your  common  dress, 

Or,  this  your  holiday? 

Be  wise:  and  while  their  golden  showers 
The  bounteous  heav'ns  distil; 

Avoid  debasing  luxury — 
Prolific  source  of  ill. 


POEMS.  113 


The  crown  of  peace  is  on  your  head- 
Its  wreath  around  your  brow; 

The  royal  banner  newly  spread, 
Waves  proudly  o'er  you  now. 

Florence,  Italy,  Jan.  10,  1873. 


AT  THE  SEA  OF  GALILEE, 


I  have  stood  on  the  shore  of  the  beautiful  sea, 
The  renowned  and  immortalized  Galilee, 
When  t'was  wrapp'd  in  repose,  at  eventide 
Like  a  royal  queen  in  her  conscious  pride. 

No  sound  was  astir — not  a  murmuring  wave — 
Not  a  motion  was  seen,  but  the  tremulous  lave, 
A  gentle  heave  of  the  water's  crest- 
As  the  infant  breathes  on  a  mother's  breast. 

I  thought  of  the  present — the  past:  it  seemed 
That  the  silent  Sea,  with  instruction  teem'd; 
For  often,  indeed,  the  heart  can  hear 
What  never,  in  sound  has  approached  the  ear. 

Full  oft  has  silence  been  richly  fraught 

.With  treasures  of  wisdom,  and  stores  of  thought, 

With  sacred,  heavenly  whisperings,  too, 

That  are  sweeter  than  roses,  and  honey  dew. 


114  POEMS. 

There's  a  depth  in  the  soul,  that's  beyond  the  reach 

Of  all  earthly  sound — of  all  human  speech, 

A  fiber  too  sacred  and  pure,  to  chime 

With  the  cold,  dull  music  of  Earth  and  Time. 

'Tis  the  heart's  receptacle,  nought  can  supply, 
But  the  streams  that  flow  from  the  fount  on  high. 
An  instinct  divine,  of  immortal  worth, 
An  inherited  gift,  through  primeval  birth. 


Agaii^  when  the  shades  of  night,  were  gone, 
In  the  clear,  bright  rays  of  the  morning  dawn, 
I  walked  on  the  bank  of  this  selfsame  Sea, 
Where  once,  our  Redeemer  was  wont  to  be. 

Where,  "Lord  save,  or  I  perish,  "was  Peter's  prayer, 
Befitting  the  weak  and  the  faithless  elsewhere. 
And  here  while  admiring  this  Scriptural  Sea, 
Th'  bold  vista  of  Time,  brought  th'  past  up  to  me; 

Embos'd  with  events  when  the  Prince  of  Life, 
Endured  this  world's  hatred — its  envy  and  strife; 
When,  in  Him,  the  Omnipotent  was  revealed, 
And,  by  Him,  the  wide  breach  of  the  law,  was  healed. 

The  gates,  He  unbarred,  and  led  the  way, 
Through  the  shadow  of  death,  to  the  courts  of  day: 
And  "led  captivity  captive,"  when 
"He  ascended  on  high,  and  gave  gifts  unto  men." 

Damascus,  Syria,  March  17,  1873. 


POEMS.  115 


CHANGE. 


'Tis  the  evening  of  Time,  and  it  is  not  strange 
That  change  should  tread  on  the  heels  of  Change. 

Upheaving  events,  like  a  swelling  surge, 
Are  moving  onward  to  Time's  last  verge; 
And  vortex-like,  in  their  foaming  haste, 
Will  swallow  the  nations  or  lay  them  waste. 

*  $  #■  *  #■  *  * 

The  present  transit  across  the  plains, 
Compared  with  the  early  "  Mormon  trains." 
Is  much  like  the  antelope's  fleety  race 
Compared  with  the  terrapin's  burden'd  pace. 

$  $  *  •:•:-  -*-  -X-  vie 

They  thrust  us  out — we  were  sent  adrift 
In  untrodden  wilds  to  make  a  shift: 
Our  pioneer  men  were  brave  and  bold — 
They  trusted  in  God  like  the  saints  of  old — 
Though  slow  their  progress,  their  foot-prints  tell, 
They  fill'd  their  mission,  and  fill'd  it  well. 
No  heart  was  faint  and  no  hand  was  slack, 
As  they  felt  out  the  way  and  mark'd  the  track. 
'Twas  said  of  them  (it  is  verily  true,) 
They  did  what  no  other  men  could  do. 

But  change  has  swept  o'er  their  path  since  then, 
And  smothered  the  track  of  the  pioneer  men, 
Who  "  made  the  bridges  and  killed  the  snakes," 
As  they  wended  their  way  to  the  mountain  lakes. 


,-..--■ 


116  tOEMS, 


In  the  pathless  desert's  unhealing  heart, 
We  awoke  a  pulse  and  we  formed  a  mart: 
We  discover'd  gold,  but  we  valued  more 
The  produce  of  soil,  than  the  shining  ore: 
We  tilled  the  earth  and  produc'd  the  bread 
On  which  the  stranger  has  freely  fed; 
For  we  were  not  long  in  our  wild  redoubt, 
Ere  multitudes  follow'd  where  we  led  out. 

As  Change  march 'd  on,  the  electric  wire, 
With  its  lightning  pulse  and  its  heart  of  fire, 
Mov'd  on  in  our  wake  successfully  and 
Unites  us  again  with  our  father  land. 
With  lightning  speed — with  its  pow'r  compress'd, 
We  can  speak  to  the  East — we  can  speak  to  the  West; 
And  then,  at  our  leisure,  with  social  ease, 
Can  chat  with  the  settlements  when  we  please. 

'Tis  the  evening  of  Time  and  results  will  prove 
That  Change  with  a  hasty  step  should  move. 
The  ungodly  nations  of  every  land, 
That  wait  his  coming  may  fear  his  hand. 
While  Change  is  filling  the  world  with  fear, 
He  comes  with  a  smiling  visage  here; 
With  a  noble  brow  and  a  look  of  pride, 
He  walks  in  our  midst  with  a  haughty  stride. 

Electric  speed  is  now  all  the  rage— 
'Tis  truly  a  fast  and  racy  age. 
The  "iron  horse"  with  its  fieiy  gear, 
With  a  mighty  rush  is  now  coming  here. 

To  clip  time  and  distance,  the  rail  and  wire, 
With  artistic  effort  and  skill,  conspire; 


POEMS.  117 

And  Change  is  combining  a  powerful  team 
Of  the  lightning  flash  and  the  puffing  steam, 
Which,  boldly  harness'd  and  train'd  to  chime, 
Ignore  all  distance  and  laugh  at  time. 
The  President's  Message,  a  wreath  of  gold, 
Was  spread  on  our  tables  a  few  hours  old. 

The  eastern  cities  their  hats  may  doff— 
The  "  Mormons"  are  now  but  a  few  days  off, 
And  every  day  are  still  drawing  near, 
As  the  "  iron  horse"  is  approaching  here. 

Let  the  Saints  awake — let  the  world  prepare 
For  coming  events:    There's  no  time  to  spare: 
'Tis  the  evening  of  Time,  and  the  hours  are  few, 
And  change  has  very  much  yet  to  do. 

Salt  Lake  City,  1869. 


THE  SHIP. 


The  ship  was  launched:  It  was  forced  to  ride 
O'er  the  surges  that  lined  the  shore: 
It  battled  hard  with  the  wind  and  tide, 
While  the  breakers  heaved  up  before. 


118  POEMS. 


The  ship  is  on  the  ocean 

With  its  crew,  and  freight  of  souls — 
With  th'  Priesthood's  unerring  compass 

Which  points  to  the  upper  poles. 

Hold  fast  to  the  ship,  for  the  waves  run  high, 
And  a  storm  is  gathering  in  the  sky: 
Hold  fast  to  the  Ship— keep  your  eye  ahead 
Huge  sharks  loom  up  from  the  ocean's  bed: 
Around  th'  Ship's  prow  and  th'  mizzen  mast, 
The  croaking  gulls  are  collecting  fast; 
But  th'  mighty  Captain  to  port  has  gone, 
And  the  Ship  in  his  wake  is  moving  on. 

Hold  on  to  the  Ship,  for  often  a  boat, 
With  a  pirate's  crew,  alongside  will  float, 
To  allure  the  unwary  ones  away, 
Like  a  wreck,  to  float  on  th'  wind-beaten  spray. 

God,  himself  is  the  Mariner:  Who  should  fear? 
The  Ship  will  each  maelstrom  and  iceberg  clear: 
It  never  has  stranded — it  never  will  strand. 
Tho'  bombarded  by  sea  and  bombarded  by  land. 

There's  no  cabin  passage  on  Zion's  ship: 

It  was  never  designed  for  a  pleasure  trip; 

But  for  expeditions  of  life-long  work, 

With  no  badges  of  honor  for  them  that  shirk. 

There  is  work  on  board,  of  every  kind — 

There's  work  for  the  body  and  work  for  the  mind- 

For  the  will,  the  sinews,  the  head  and  the  heart; 

And  the  duty  of  each  is  to  bear  a  part: 


POEMS.  119 


Whatever  the  labor,  though  light  or  hard, 
There's  a  strict,  proportionate,  just  reward. 

'Tis  a  voyage  of  discipline  formed  to  prove 
And  prepare  the  good,  for  a  life  of  love; 
For  the  Ship  bears  a  heavenly  embassy, 
To  provide  for  the  world's  great  Jubilee. 

Life's  billows  are  foaming  with  vice  and  crime, 

And.  this  is  the  Lord's  last  fishing  time. 

The  fruition  of  joy  and  triumph  will  be 

On  the  heav'n-ward  side  of  this  time-bound  sea. 

The  waters  are  deep  and  the  ocean  wide, 

But  the  harbor  is  safe  on  the  other  side; 

Pure  life  with  the  curse  removed,  crowns  the  shore, 

With  Eternity's  fulness  forevermore. 


MY  COUNTRY.-A  LAMENTATION. 


Columbia,  my  country!  The  land  of  my  birth  and 
the  boast  of  my  youthful  pride! 

My  love  for  thee,  mingled  with  the  warm  pulses  of 
my  childhood — it  was  inherited  from  my  noble  ances- 
tors who  periled  their  lives  and  bravely  fought  for 
thy  independence — it  grew  with  my  growth  as  a  legiti- 
mate portion  of  my  nature. 


120  POEMS. 


Thou  hast  been  as  a  beacon  of  light  to  other  nations — 
a  palladium  of  liberty  and  an  asylum  for  the  oppressed. 
Then  thy  broad  bosom,  warmed  with  compassion  for 
the  homeless — thou  didst  open  wide  thy  heart  to  shelter 
persecuted  outcasts  from  distant  lands. 

Thou  didst  choose  wise  men  for  statesmen — men  with 
souls,  who  were  not  greedy  after  selfish  gain,  but  were 
true  to  thy  interests,  and  held  thy  honor  dearer  than 
their  life. 

With  them,  thou  didst  establish  a  government  on  the 
grand  platform  of  civil  and  religious  liberty,  guaran- 
teeing equal  rights;  and  to  procure  its  perpetuity,  thou 
didst  frame  and  bequeath  a  glorious  and  sacred  Consti- 
tution, which  was  prompted  by  the  inspiration  of  the 
Most  High. 

Thy  standard  was  emblazoned  with  the  insignia  of 
peace;  and  on  its  lofty  spire  which  towered  amid  the 
skies,  waved  the  glorious  banner  of  freedom,  which 
was  unsoiledby  the  hand  of  oppression,  and  unstained 
with  the  blood  of  innocence. 

Then,  thy  courts  and  seats  of  justice,  and  thy  congress 
halls  were  receptacles  of  trust  and  confidence. 

Union  and  happiness  prevaded  thy  interior,  and  a 
crown  of  glory  encircled  thy  brow;  thy  name  was  held 
in  honor  abroad:  proud  and  haughty  nations  gazed 
with  admiration  at  thy  prosperity;  they  bowed  respect- 
fully to  the  noble  magnanimity  of  thy  character,  and 
marveled  at  the  harmonious  workings  of  thine  institu- 
tions. , 

Such  thou  wert  as  I  remember  thee;  and  then  my 


POEMS.  121 

young  heart  swelled  with  joyous  pride  that  I  was  an 
American  citizen. 

But  alas!  alas!  a  great  change  has  come  over  thee: 
and  now,  with  subdued  pride,  I  am  forced  to  exclaim  : 
"  How  is  the  mighty  fallen!" 

Where  is  thy  Washington — thy  Jefferson  and  thine 
Adams  of  former  years?  Where  now  the  respect  and 
loyality  with  which  they  adhered  to,  and  honored  the 
glorious  Constitution? 

When  two  of  thy  noblest  sons — those  whom  God  had 
raised  up  to  be  benefactors  of  the  age,  were  assassinated 
in  Carthage  jail;  thou  didst,  not  only  forfeit  thine  own 
plighted  faith  to  them,  and  complacently  fold  thy 
hands  in  silent  sanction,  but  thou  didst  throw  thy 
mantle  of  protection  around  the  foul  perpetrators  of 
the  horrid  deed. 

Alas!  for  thee,  my  Country!  Inconsistency  is  glaring 
in  thine  acts — with  one  hand  thou  dost  extend  liberty, 
and  proffer  protection  to  the  negro  in  the  South;  while, 
with  the  other  thou  dost  seize,  and  wrest  from  a  por- 
tion of  thy  most  loyal  subjects  who,  after  having  been 
thrust  from  thy  presence,  have  opened  for  thee  a  path 
in  the  desert;  the  dearest  privileges  and  the  most  sacred 
rights  conferred  by  the  Goddess  of  Liberty. 

There  is  no  cloak  for  thy  shame:  The  stain  of  inno- 
cent blood  is  on  thy  armorial  escutcheon — degeneracy 
is  visibly  depicted  in  thy  countenance — rottenness  is 
in  thy  bones — thy  joints  tremble  by  reason  of  weak- 
ness, and  thou  art  terribly  diseased  in  thine  inward 
parts. 

Thou  hast  even  acknowledged  thine  own  imbecility; 


12 


122  POEMS. 

for  when  a  portion  of  thine  own  children  who  had  been 
cruelly  persecuted  and  smitten,  cried  unto  thee  for  help 
— humbly  claiming  thy  parental  protection,  thou  didst 
coldly  and  deliberately  say  to  them,  "Your  cause  is 
'  just ,  but  lean  do  nothing  for  you.''1 

Tell  it  not  in  Europe — publish  it  not  on  the  continent 
of  Asia,  lest  the  monarchs  of  the  world  laugh,  and  the 
subjects  of  despots  have  thee  in  derision. 

And  yet,  thou  art  not  wholly  fallen:  To  thine  honor 
be  it  spoken:  thou  hast  a  few,  who,  like  the  Daniel  of 
old,  boldly  dare  to  stand  up  in  defense  of  justice,  and 
oppose  the  annihilation  of  peace  and  citizenship;  and 
their  names  will  be  registered  in  the  archives  of  the 
just. 

My  Country,  O,  my  Country!  my  heart  bleeds  for 
thee — I  mourn  thy  corruption  and  degradation — thy 
glory  has  departed — thy  fame  is  extinguished — thy 
peace  and  honor,  swindled;  and  "the  dear  old  flag" 
which  once  floated  in  glorious  majesty,  is  now  slowly 
and  solemnly  undulating  at  half  "mast,  as  a  requiem  of 
thy  departed  liberty,  which  thou  hast  sacrificed  on  the 
shrine  of  political  emolument. 

And  now,  mark  it— write  it  with  an  iron  pen — en- 
grave it  indelibly  in  the  rocks — a  day  of  retribution 
awaits  thee.  Think  not  thou  can'st  measure  arms  with 
the  Almighty — think  not  thy  strength  sufficient  to 
cope  with  Omnipotence. 

September,  1870, 


POEMS.  123 


THE  FATHERS-WOULDFT  THEY  BE  ASTONISHED? 


Could  our  country's  noble  sages, 
Who  have  gone  to  reap  their  wages, 
Reap  rewards  for  their  well  doing, 
When  on  earth  they  were  pursuing 
This  great  nation's  peace  and  honor 
In  erecting  Freedom's  banner; 
Could  they  get  one  full  expression 
Of  our  Congress'  present  session — 
Could  they  take  one  single  peep  in, 
They  would  surely  fall  to  weeping. 

They  would  weep  and  blush  and  wonder 
At  the  noisy  wind  and  thunder — 
At  the  boisterous,  wrathy  prattle — 
At  the  steam  and  tittle  tattle — 
At  the  ghosts  with  human  faces, 
Filling  honorable  places. 

Could  our  Washington  and  Adams, 
Jefferson  and  other  sages, 
Look  upon  the  present  scenery, 
With  its  underwire  machinery — 
All  the  multiform  dissentions 
Of  the  multiplied  conventions; 


124  POEMS. 


Some  intent  on  office  seeking — 
Some  intent  on  money  eking — 
All  mix'd  up  in  twists  and  jangles, 
All  absorb'd  in  wordy  wrangles. 

Could  they  take  one  squint  at  Utah, 
See  the  army  made  a  cat's  paw 
Just  to  drain  the  nation's  coffers, 
To  appease  the  scoundrels'  offers- 
Just  to  fatten  speculators, 
Base,  blood-thirsty  instigators, 
Who  blew  hard  to  raise  a  bubble — 
Who  created  all  the  trouble — 
See  the  "  Mormons"  scourg'd  like  minions 
For  their  worship  and  opinions; 
Just  one  glance  would  make  them  wonder 
If  the  nation  had  gone  under, 
And  our  country's  boasted  White  House 
Metamorphos'd  to  a  light-house, 
A  tall  beacon,  just  to  show  their 
Once  "fam'd  liberty"  is  nowhere — 
That  the  freedom  of  men's  conscience, 
Guaranteed  to  us,  is  nonsense. 

If  they  look  for  "  Rights"  as  equaJ, 
As  they  hop'd  for  in  the  sequel 
Of  their  hardships  and  privations — 
Of  their  wise  deliberations, 
When  the  government  they  founded — 
When  the  trump  of  peace  they  sounded; 
They  would  think  their  labors  wasted 
And  the  fruits  thereof,  untasted — 


POEMS.  125 


That  altho'  their  deeds  are  boasted, 
And  their  names  on  way-marks  posted; 
They  are  virtually  forgotten, 
And  the  Constitution  rotten. 


ADDRESS. 

Written  for  the  24th  of  July,  1871,  on  the  occasion  of  a 
grand  Celebration,  held  in  Or/den  City  (in  which 
many  citizens  of  Salt  Lake  City  participated,  Presi- 
dent D.  H.  Wells  being  Orator  of  the  day),  in  com- 
memoration of  the  arrival  of  the  Pioneers  in  Salt 
Lake  Valley \  on  the  24th  of  July,  1847. 


[Read  by  Col.  D.  McKenzie.] 


Latter-Day  Saint  Ladies  of  Utah: 

The  day  we  celebrate  is  a  very  important  one.  Im- 
portant not  only  to  the  Latter-day  Saints,  as  a  people, 
but  also  highly  important  to  all  the  nations  of  the  earth. 

The  arrival  of  the  Pioneers  in  these  valleys,  is  an 
event  which  history  will  repeat  with  emphasis  to  all 
succeeding  generations.  It  formed  the  starting  point — 
the  commencement  of  a  delightful  oasis  in  the  desert 
wilds  of  North  America — of  establishing  a  midway  set- 
tlement between  Eastern  and  western  civilization,  a 


126  POEMS. 


connecting  overland  link,  between  the  rich  agricultural 
products  of  the  Atlantic  and  the  undeveloped  mineral 
treasures  of  the  Pacific.  Above  all,  and  of  consequence 
of  far  greater  magnitude,  it  was  securing  a  foothold 
for  the  establishment  of  the  Kingdom  of  God — a  gov- 
ernment of  peace — a  home  for  the  exiled  Saints,  and 
for  the  oppressed  of  all  nations — a  reservoir  of  freedom 
and  religious  toleration,  where  the  glorious  flag  of 
liberty  now  waves  triumphantly;  and  where  the  sacred 
Constitution  which  our  noble  forefathers  were  instru- 
mental in  forming  under  the  inspiration  of  the  Al- 
mighty, shall  be  cleansed  from  every  stain  cast  upon 
it  by  degenerate  Executives,  and  be  preserved  inviolate. 
This  in  fulfillment  of  a  prediction  by  the  prophet 
Joseph  Smith.  Long  before  political  faction  had 
reared  its  hydra-head  in  the  midst  of  our  Republican 
Government — long  before  the  intrigues  of  selfish,  dis- 
loyal, unscrupulous,  speculating,  peace-destroying, 
office-seeking  demagogues  had  attained  to  their  present 
hideous  proportions,  I  heard  the  prophet  say,  "The 
time  will  come  when  the  Government  of  these  United 
States  will  be  so  nearly  overthrown  through  its  own 
corruption,  that  the  Constitution  will  hang,  as  it  were, 
by  a  single  hair,  and  the  Latter-Day  Saints — the  Elders 
of  Israel — will  step  forward  to  its  rescue  and  save  it." 

•  Ladies,  please  allow  me  to  address  you  by  the  more 
endearing  appellation  of  sisters.  We  have  the  privi- 
lege of  uniting  with  our  brethren  in  twining  a  garland 
with  which  to  decorate  the  stately  brow  of  this  auspici- 
ous day.  Why  should  we  not?  What  interests  have 
we  that  are  not  in  common  with  theirs,  and  what  have 


POEMS.  127 


they  that  are  disconnected  with  ours?  We  know  of 
none,  and  we  feel  assured  that  they  have  no  more 
interests  involved  in  the  settlement  of  these  valleys 
than  ourselves.  Who  is  better  qualified  to  appreciate 
the  blessings  of  peace'  than  woman?  And  where  on 
earth  is  woman  so  highly  privileged  as  associated  with 
the  Saints  in  Utah,  and  where  else,  on  earth,  is  female 
virtue  held  so  sacred,  and  where  so  bravely  defended? 
Facts  answer,  no  where! 

It  is  to  the  Gospel  of  Jesus  Christ  that  we  are  indebted 
for  the  blessings  we  enjoy;  and  how  lamentable  it  is  to 
see  women  of  the  world,  who,  ostensibly  aiming  to  im- 
prove society,  ignore  its  divinity  and  trifle  with  its 
sacred  truths!  Reforms  established  on  such  a  basis, 
would,  if  successful,  dissolve  every  tie  and  obliterafe 
all  that  is  dear  to  the  heart  of  a  virtuous,  high-aiming 
woman. 

The  Gospel  in  its  mutilated  forms,  as  now  held  by 
the  religious  sects  of  the  day,  has  done  much  towards 
the  elevation  of  woman;  and  what  will  it  not  do,  when 
fully  illustrated  in  its  purity  and  power,  as  it  was  in- 
troduced by  its  great  Founder,  and  as  it  has  been  again 
restored  in  our  day?  We  should  bear  in  mind  that,  as 
yet,  its  practice  is  but  imperfectly  developed.  Although 
perfect  principles  may  be  readily  enunciated,  it  is  a 
slow  process,  and  one  that  requires  time,  for  a  people 
with  minds  filled  with  all  the  false  traditions  of  the  age, 
and  with  habits  commingling  the  most  extreme  oppo- 
sites,  to  attain  to  perfection  in  practice.  But  this  is  an 
event  which,  although  it  may  be  far  in  the  distance,  is 


128  POEMS. 

surely  before  us,  for  we  know  we  have  the  true  start- 
ing point. 

With  hearts  overflowing  with  gratitude  to  God  for 
the  blessings  of  this  day,  and  for  the  bright  prospect  of 
the  future  before  us,  let  us  take  a  retrospective  view,  and 
inquire  if  we  were  not  in  concert  with  our  brethren, 
and  with  them  instrumental  in  the  hand  of 
God,  in  bringing  about  the  interesting  event  we 
are  now  celebrating.  Who  can  calculate  the  worth 
of  cheerful  submission  to  privation — the  patient 
endurance  of  hardships — the  heroic  fortitude  in 
surmounting  difficulties  which  our  sisters  mani- 
fested ,and  how  much  weight  they  had  in  encourag- 
ing our  brethren  when  under  trying  circumstances? 
Who  can  tell  how  much  influence  the  unyielding  faith 
and  fervent  prayers  of  the  mothers,  wives  and  sisters 
had  with  Him  "  who  hears  the  young  ravens  when 
they  cry,"  in  strengthening  the  brave  hearts  and  hands 
of  the  noble  Pioneers  who  opened  up  a  path  in  the 
trackless  desert? 

Let  us  take  a  glance  of  reminiscence  at  the  time 
when,  after  our  expulsion  from  Nauvoo,  and  while 
wending  our  weary  way  as  outcasts,  the  United  States 
Government  made  the  most  unreasonable  and  unpre- 
cedented requisition  known  in  the  annals  of  history, 
on  our  traveling  camps,  by  demanding  500  of  our  most 
efficient  men— ordering  them  to  march  immediately  to 
Mexico,  of  which  this  Territory  was  then  the  north-east- 
ern part,  to  assist  in  the  acquisition  of  territory,  and  to 
establish  there  that  dishonored  flag,  from  under  the 
protection  of  which,  we  had  recently  been  forced  to 


poems.  L29 


fly.  Some  of  those  noble  women  yet  live,  while  others 
have  gone  to  reap  the  reward  of  their  labors;  who, 
while  their  husbands,  sons  and  brothers  were  perform- 
ing military  service  and  exposing  their  lives  in  Mexico, 
forced  by  cruel  necessity,  took  the  position  of  teamsters 
and  drove  to  the  mountains.  With  many  similar  mat- 
ter of  fact  proofs  which  might  be  enumerated,  who  can 
doubt  that  "  Mormon  women"  are  equal  to  any  and  all 
emergencies?  The  great  questions  relative  to  woman's 
sphere,  etc.,  which  are  making  some  stir  in  the  world 
abroad,  have  no  influence  with  us.  While  we  realize 
that  we  are  called  to  be  co-workers  with  our  brethren 
in  the  great  work  of  the  last  days,  we  realize  that  we 
have  no  occasion  to  clamor  about  equality,  or  to  battle 
for  supremacy.  We  understand  our  true  position— God 
has  defined  the  sphere  of  woman  wherever  His  Priest- 
hood is  acknowledged;  and  although  we  are  not  at 
present  living  up  to  all  our  privileges,  and  fulfilling 
all  the  duties  that  belong  to  our  sex,  the  field  is  open 
before  us,  and  we  are  urged  to  move  forward  as  fast  as 
we  can  develop  and  apply  our  own  capabilities.  But 
we  never  shall  be  called  to  officiate  in  unwomanly 
positions.  Although  invested  with  the  right  of  suffrage, 
we  shall  never  have  occasion  to  vote  for  lady  legis- 
lators or  for  lady  congressmen,  from  the  fact  that  the 
kingdom  of  God,  of  which  we  are  citizens,  will  never 
be  deficient  in  a  supply  of  good  and  wise  men  to  fill 
governmental  positions,  and  of  brave  men  for  warriors. 

How  very  different  our  position  from  that  of  our 
sisters  in  the  world  at  large,  and  how  widely  different 
our  feelings  and  prospects  from  that  class  known  as 


130  POEMS. 


"strong-minded,"  who  are  strenuously  and  unflinch- 
ingly advocating  "woman's  rights,"  and  some  of 
them,  at  least,  claiming  "woman's  sovereignity"  and 
vainly  flattering  themselves  with  the  idea  that  with 
ingress  to  the  ballot  box  and  access  to  financial  offices, 
they  shall  accomplish  the  elevation  of  woman-kind. 
They  seem  utterly  blind  and  oblivious  to  an  element 
incorporated  with  their  platform,  which,  in  its  nature, 
is  calculated  to  sap  the  foundation  of  all  on  earth  that 
can  impart  happiness  and  stability  to  the  domestic  and 
social  circles. 

We  are  well  aware  that  society  needs  purifying,  but 
for  them  to  think  of  bettering  its  condition  by  thejcourse 
and  measures  they  are  applying  is  like  the  blind  lead- 
ing the  blind. 

With  all  their  efforts  to  remove  the  curse 
Matters  are  yearly  growing  worse  and  worse: 
They  can  as  well  unlock  without  a  key, 
As  change  the  the  tide  of  man's  degen'racy, 
Without  the  Holy  Priesthood — 'tis  at  most 
Like  reck'ning  bills  in  absence  of  the  host. 

Not  that  we  are  opposed  to  woman  suffrage.  Cer- 
tainly Congress  cannot  be  actiug  consistently  with 
itself  to  withold  suffrage  from  woman  after  having  con- 
ferred it  on  the  negro,  the  recent  subject  of  abject 
slavery.  But  to  think  of  a  war  of  sexes  which  the 
woman's  rights  movement  would  inevitably  inaugu- 
rate, entailing  domestic  feuds  and  contentions  for  supre- 
macy, with  a  corresponding  "  easy  virtue"  and  dissolu- 
tion of  the  marriage  tie,  creates  an  involuntary  shud- 


POEMS.  131 

der!  "Order  is  heaven's  first  law,"  and  it  is  utterly 
impossible  for  order  to  exist  without  organization,  and 
no  organization  can  be  effected  without  gradation.  Our 
standard  is  as  far  above  theirs, as  the  pattern  of  heavenly 
things  is  above  the  earthly.  We  have  already  attained 
to  an  elevation  in  nobility  and  purity  of  life,  which 
they  can  neither  reach  nor  comprehend,  and  yet  they 
call  us  "  degraded."  We  cannot  descend  to  their  stand- 
ard; we  have  a  high  destiny  to  fill.  It  is  for  us  to  set  the 
world  an  examjDle  of  the  highest  and  most  perfect 
types  of  womanhood. 

Mothers  and  sisters  have  great  influence  in  moulding 
the  characters  of  the  coming  men,  either  for  good  or  evD . 
All  the  energies  of  woman's  soul  should  be  brought 
into  exercise  in  the  important  work  of  cultivating,  edu- 
cating and  refining  the  rising  generation.  Example 
is  more  effectual  than  precept — both  are  requisite.  In 
this  direction  woman  has  not  only  acknowledged 
"rights,"  but  momentous  duties,  and  such  as  require 
all  the  strength  of  mind  and  firmness  of  purpose  as 
have  culminated  in  the  epithet,  "strong-minded."  I 
cannot  think  that  woman  was  ever  endowed  with  too 
much  strength  of  mind,  if  properly  directed —  it  is  the 
perversion  of  its  uses,  and  misapplication  of  abilities 
which  have  occasioned  the  odium.  It  is  impossible 
for  either  men  or  women  to  possess  too  much  knowl- 
edge, or.be  endowed  with  too  much  capability,  Jprovided 
they  are  applied  to  legitimate  purposes.  Would  any 
sensible  man  take  pride  in  announcing  that  his  wife, 
sister  or  daughter  was  weak-minded,  silly  and  effemi- 
nate? 


132  POEMS. 


According  to  history,  most  of  the  men  who  have  be- 
come illustrious  as  benefactors  of  mankind,  were  sons 
of  wise,  noble  and  intelligent  mothers.  President 
Young  says  "  woman  is  the  mainspring  and  the  way- 
mark  of  society."  It  was  justly  remarked,  "show  me 
the  women  of  a  nation,  and  I  will  describe  the  character 
of  that  nation."  Admitting  so  much  for  woman's  in- 
fluence, what  care  should  be  taken  in  the  cultivation  of 
the  daughters  of  Zion  as  the  future  mothers  of  a  mighty 
generation!  They  should  be  taught  to  fix  their  stand- 
ard of  character  as  far  above  the  level  of  those  of  the 
outside  world  as  is  the  altitude  they  inhabit.  They 
should  early  establish  a  firmness  of  integrity  surpass- 
ing the  durability  of  the  impregnable  mountains  which 
surround  us.  Wisely  instructed,  and  with  proper 
habits  of  thought  and  reflection,  they  would  desj)ise  to 
be  seen  aping  the  foolish,  extravagant  and  disgusting 
fashions  of  the  godless  gentile  world.  They  would 
scorn  to  imitate  the  strange  disfiguring  of  the  physical 
structure  which  jeopardizes  health.  A  stylish,  fashion- 
able lady  of  the  present  day,  presents  more  the  appear- 
ance of  a  beast  of  burden,  a  camel  or  dromedary 
heavily  laden,  than  the  elegant,  dignified,  graceful 
form  in  which  God  created  woman.  Dress  is  admitted 
to  be  an  index  to  the  mind.  Good  taste  is  much  better 
exhibited  in  a  plain  costume  than  in  an  extravagant 
mass  of  superfluities. 

May  such  high  and  holy  aspirations  be  kindled  in 
the  pure  virgin  hearts  of  our  young  ladies,  as  will  so 
elevate  their  thoughts  and  feelings  as  to  lift  them  far 
above  the  contaminating  influences  of  degenerate  civil i- 


poems.  133 

zation.  May  the  young  sons  of  Zion  be  proof  against 
the  deleterious  habits  which  vitiate  the  taste  and  under- 
mine the  structure  of  physical  strength  and  perfec- 
tion— may  they  become  the  unwavering  champions  of 
truth,  freedom  and  justice,  and  stand  as  mighty  bul- 
warks against  the  aggressions  of  intolerance  and 
oppression;  and  may  the  young  daughters  of  Zion, 
noble,  dignified,  loving  and  graceful— like  "  polished 
stones," — become  crowns  of  excellence  and  beauty, 
prepared  hereafter  to  associate  with  angels  and  the 
highest  intelligences  of  the  upper  world.    - 


GOOD  SOCIETY. 

Written  for,  and  read  before  an  Assembly  of  the  Poly- 
sophical  Association,  Salt  Lake  City, 


How  sweet  is  the  association  of  hearts  united  by  the 
endearing  ties  of  reciprocated  friendship?  How  holy, 
and  how  heavenly  the  communion  of  those  whose 
minds  are  enlightened  by  the  spirit  of  revelation — 
whose  trust  is  in  the  promises  of  the  Most  High— who 
are  guided  by  his  Priesthood  upon  the  earth,  and 
whose  anticipations  reach  beyond  the  vail  which  hides 
from  our  view,  a  glorious  immortality? 


134  POEMS. 


What  is  more  desirable  to  noble,  intelligent  beings, 
and  what  object  can  be  more  worthy  of  our  pursuit, 
than  good  society? 

Whether  the  desire  was  inherited,  or  whether  it  was 
the  result  of  high-toned  parental  instruction,  I  cannot 
say;  but  good  society  has  been  my  undeviating  aim, 
and  for  which  I  have  endeavored  to  render  myself 
worthy,  ever  since  my  earliest  childhood:  And  now 
my  heart  overflows  with  love  and  gratitude  to  my 
heavenly  Father,  that  I  am  numbered  with  his  chosen 
Israel,  and  have  the  inestimable  privilege  of  being 
associated  with  the  Latter-day  Samts. 

How  happy  are  those  who  are  permitted  to  unite  to- 
gether, and  through  the  perfect  medium  of  the  Spirit  of 
God,  not  only  hold  sweet  communion  with  one  an- 
other, but  through  union  of  faith  and  feeling,  have 
power  to  draw  down  precious  draughts  of  consolation 
and  intelligence,  from  the  fountain  above?  If  such, 
the  small  foretastes  which  occasionally  refresh  the 
rugged  pathway  of  life,  and  which  truly  seem  as  cool- 
ing streams  to  the  thirsty  traveler,  and  as  clusters  of 
grapes  to  the  weary,  famishing  pilgrim;  what  will  be 
the  blessed  fruition,  when  those  who  abide  the  ordeal 
of  earthly  affliction,  and  become  sanctified  through  the 
truth;  will  mingle  with  those  exalted  beings  whose 
purity,  and  brightness  of  glory,  far  exceed  the  powers 
of  our  weak,  mortal  vision? 

And  will  it  ever  be  possible  for  us,  the  frail,  degener- 
ate children  of  Adam,  to  arrive  at  the  reality  of  these 
high  hopes?  At  the  ultimatum  of  these  glorious  anti- 
cipations? 


POEMS.  135 


He,  whose  spirit  has  awakened  in  our  bosoms,  the 
supernal,  elevating  and  soul-enlivening  expectation  of 
a  perfect  state  of  society  hereafter;  has  also  furnished 
us  with  means  necessary  for  the  attainment.  He  has 
implanted  in  our  organizations,  the  germ  of  mental, 
moral,  and  physical  faculties  capable  of  expansion, 
and  possessing  the  rudiments  of  eternal  progression. 
He  has  revealed  Keys  and  Ordinances  of  the  everlast- 
ing Priesthood,  which  will  qualify  all  those  who  re- 
ceive and  respect  them,  for  admission  into  the  upper 
courts  of  eternity — into  the  assemblies  of  the  just — for 
a  perfection  and  fulness  of  those  enjoyments  of  which 
we  partake  in  small,  yet  precious  effusions  here  in  our 
social  assemblies,  where  the  atmosphere  is  rife  with 
love,  union,  and  confidence — where  all  is  harmony  and 
peace. 

Admitting  the  very  current  remark,  that  the  Saints 
are  all  in  school;  and  considering  the  present  state  of 
existence  as  a  kind  of  outer  porch,  where  we  are  taking 
lessons  preparatory  to  an  entrance  within  the  vail — 
into  the  vestry  which  opens  into  the  celestial  Halls  of 
eternity;  I  have  thought  that  a  very  important  lesson 
of  our  present  education  is  the  correct  estimate  or  a 
true  comparative  valuation  of  whatever  pertains  to 
human  life. 

Everything  on  earth  has  been  perverted;  and  those 
who  gather  to  Zion  from  different  countries,  have  each 
a  different  standard  by  which  to  determine  the  relative 
importance  and  worth  of  whatever  comes  within  the 
compass  of  our  supervision. 

In  Zion— in  the  midst  of  the  Saints  of  God — under 


136  POEMS. 

the  direction  and  in  the  presence  of  those  who  hold  the 
keys  of  knowledge;  we  might  make  ourselves  appear 
very  ridiculous  by  adhering  to  the  estimates  and  com- 
putations of  the  adulterated  erudition,  practice,  and 
etiquette  of  Babylon.  How  muchsoever  of  good  we 
may  have  acquired,  it  remains  for  the  voice  of  Inspira- 
tion, through  the  medium  which  God  has  appointed, 
to  determine  what  is  and  what  is  not  good.  c  This  in- 
struction, I  consider  one  grand  item,  to  obtain  which, 
we  have  been  gathered  from  the  midst  of  the  nations: 
And  in  Zion,  we  have  always  before  us,  more  or  less 
examples  of  those  who,  through  an  inflexible  tenacity 
for  former  education  and  gentile  notions  and  customs, 
are  left  far  in  the  rear  of  such  as  in  humility  take  the 
position  of  students,  and  in  all  things  are  ready  and 
willing  to  be  taught. 

An  ancient  wise  man  observed,  "that  which  is  highly 
esteemed  among  men,  is  foolishness  with  God;"  and  I 
believe  that  nearly  all  of  the  mental,  and  not  a  small 
portion  of  the  physical  suffering  of  the  present  state,  is 
consequent  on,  or  rather  the  production  of  a  false  and 
disordered  estimate  of  things  with  which  we  have  to 
do  and  to  which  we  are  subject.  The  Spirit  of  God  is 
the  spirit  of  light— the  spirit  of  intelligence,  and  when 
we  are  filled  with  it,  as  every  faithful  Saint  has  been 
at  times,  all  the  ten  thousand  annoyances  and  per- 
plexities— all  the  discomfitures  of  life  disappear,  like 
the  shades  of  night  before  the  bright  rays  of  the  rising 
sun. 

When  we  act  consistently  with  ourselves,  we  make 
that  the  object  of  our  most  ardent  pursuit,  to  which  we 


POEMS.  137 

attach  the  greatest  consequence;  and  if  our  standards 
of  valuation  are  not  in  accordance  with  the  prices-cur- 
rent in  the  upper  market,  we  not  only  squander  the 
ability  which  God  has  given  to  lay  up  treasures  for 
eternity,  and  make  a  wasteful  sacrifice  of  the  time  al- 
lotted for  the  acquisition  of  what  is  recognized  as 
genuine  by  the  true  Mint;  but  we  court  around  us 
those  delusive  spirits  of  darkness  which  are  ever  seek- 
ing to  obtain  access  in  order  to  decoy.  And  what  is 
still  worse,  in  the  attain ment  of  that  which  is  entirely 
useless,  or  far  inferior  to  the  worth  of  time  and  anxiety 
bestowed,  we  sacrifice  the  peace  of  mind,  by  which  we 
disqualify  ourselves  to  enjoy  the  desired  object,  were 
its  possession  really  productive  of  enjoyment,  which 
is  not  the  case,  in  nine  instances  out  of  ten. 

In  order  to  arise  in  the  scale  of  being,  that  we  may 
mingle  in  the  associations  of  the  high  and  holy  ones 
who  dwell  in  the  mansions  of  light,  we  are  to  become 
as  little  children,  and  in  all  things  be  instructed  by  the 
Holy  Priesthood,  which  holds  in  possession  the  rules 
and  scales x  of  weights  and  measures,  by  which  all 
things  will  have  their  value  determined,  not  only  for 
Time  and  Eternity,  but  for  all  the  successions  of  Eter- 
nities. What  have  the  order,  fashion,  and  traditions 
of  this  world — what  have  the  opinions  and  practices  of 
the  gentiles,  the  enemies  of  truth,  to  do  with  the  pre- 
parations we  are  making  for  the  presence  and  the  re- 
ception of  angels  and  those  higher  intelligences  who, 
we  are  instructed,  will  ere  long  manifest  themselves  to 
such  as  are  prepared  to  receive  them?  Just  nothing  at 
all.    And  when  we  can  fully  realize  it,  we  shall  spare 


13 


138  POEMS. 


ourselves  all  the  mortification  of  feeling  attendant  on 
the  amalgamation  of  light  and  darkness — the  know- 
ledge of  God  and  the  spurious  erudition  of  Babylon: 
And  as  we  increase  in  the  wisdom  of  God — become 
acquainted  with,  and  act  in  accordance  to  his  estimates 
in  all  things;  much,  and  perhaps  all  that  previously 
caused  us  grief  and  anxiety,  will  diminish  in  conse- 
quence— sink  into  insignificance,  and  really  prove  to 
be  nothing  more  than  the  rattle  which  amuses  the  rest- 
less child. 

Our  purpose— our  aim  is  the  favor  of  God — the 
society  of  the  good;  and  that  our  aim  may  be  well 
directed,  it  is  necessary  for  us  to  study  our  heavenly 
Father's  laws  of  appreciation,  that  what  we  learn,  both 
from  observation  and  experience,  may  have  a  qualify- 
ing tendency,  whereby  our  present  associations  may 
be  perpetuated;  and  that  in  the  path  of  perfection,  we 
may  walk,  steadily  upward,  communing  with  the 
spirits  of  the  Just,  until  we  enter  the  holy  assemblies 
of  the  sanctified,  in  the  fulness  of  the  presence  and 
glory  of  the  Gods  of  Eternity. 


poems.  L39 


PSALM. 


PART  FIRST. 

O  Lord  our  God,  Thou  art  great  and  glorious. 

Thy  decrees  are  eternal— thy  purposes  fix'd  and  un- 
changeable— and  the  times  and  seasons  are  directed  by 
thine  own  Omnipotent  wisdom. 

The  reins  of  thy  government  are  truth  and  equity; 
justice  and  mercy  are  the  executors  of  thy  will.  Justice 
cannot  rob  mercy,  neither  can  mercy  defraud  justice: 
therefore  they  walk  hand  in  hand  together  in  the  bright 
sunshine  of  righteousness. 

Thy  Saints  rejoice  in  thy  goodness— they  glory  in  thy 
might  and  majesty,  and  they  adore  thee  for  thy  con- 
descension and  thy  love. 

Thou  art  our  boast  in  the  day  of  prosperity;  and  in 
the  day  of  trouble,  Thou  art  our  shield  and  our  trust. 

When  the  purple  hand  of  persecution  lay  heavily 
upon  us,  where,  although  liberty  of  conscience  was 
boldly  inscribed  on  the  national  escutcheon,  and  the 
banner  of  freedom  broadly  waved  in  proud  majesty, 
the  blood  of  Saints  and  Prophets  copiously  flowed  for  no 
other  offence  than  the  exercise  of  this  inalienable  right; 


140  POEMS. 

And  we  were  driven  from  our  inheritances  and  from 
our  comfortable  homes,  to  wander  shelterless  in  the 
dreary  wild; 

Thou  didst  inspire  the  heart  of  thy  servant  Brig- 
ham — Thou  didst  impart  unto  him  a  portion  of  thine 
own  eternal  wisdom;  and  he  went  forth  with  his 
brethren,  to  seek  a  resting  place  for  thy  people. 

Thou  didst  direct  their  footsteps  over  trackless  wastes 
and  rugged  ways,  to  this  valley  in  the  midst  of  the 
"  everlasting  hills,"  which,  for  ages,  Thou  hast  held  in 
reserve  for  this  purpose — where  the  foot  of  civilization 
did  not  tread;  and  where  the  hand  of  cultivation  had 
not  been  stretch' d  forth  during  the  lapse  of  centuries. 

This  land,  although  a  land  of  savages— a  wild  and 
dreary  waste,  they  received  as  a  boon  from  heaven, 
the  gift  of  thy  hand;  and  with  grateful  hearts,  they 
bowed  down,  and  in  the  name  of  thine  Only  Begotten, 
they  dedicated  it  unto  Thee  for  an  asylum  of  safety  and 
a  gathering  place  for  the  Saints. 

Here  they  erected  a  standard,  even  a  standard  of 
peace,  unto  which  they  invited  the  scattered  exiled 
Saints,  and  all  honest  in  heart  thro'out  the  world. 

Many,  yea  many  were  the  trials  which  Thou  didst 
call  thy  people  to  pass  through,  while  commencing 
and  establishing  a  home  in  the  wilderness,  that  it  might 
"bud  and  blossom  as  the  rose,"  and  that  "springs  of 
water  might  spring  forth  in  the  desert;" 


POEMS.  141 

Yea  more  than  ordinary  fortitude,  courage  and  per- 
severance were  requisite  to  surmount  those  difficulties, 
and  to  endure  the  privations  attendant  on  this  new  and 
extraordinary  enterprise,  which  none  but  those  unto 
whom  Thou,  the  Most  High  God,  had  spoken,  would 
even  have  attempted. 

But  thy  servants  were  stout  hearted,  for  Thou  wert 
with  them— they  never  thought  of  discouragement,  for 
Thou  had  required  this  service  at  their  hand,  and  more- 
over, the  word  cannot  had  long  since  been  stricken 
from  the  vocabularies  of  Zion,  as  obsolete. 

Although  Thou  didst  put  thy  people  to  to  the  proof, 
to  try  their  texture,  that  they  might  come  forth  like 
pure  gold  from  the  furnace;  Thou  didst  bless  their 
labors  and  crown  their  efforts  with  abundand  success; 
and  glory  be  to  thy  great  name. 


PART  SECOND. 

O   God,  how  wonderful  are  thy  providences,  how 
strange  are  thy  dealings  with  the  children  of  men! 

Thou  overrulest  all  things,  and  with  Thee  is  the  re- 
sult of  every  act  of  the  inhabitants  of  the  earth; 

Thou  givest  power,  and  man  operates,  Thou  with- 
holdest,  and  all  his  plans  and  purposes  are  frustrated. 

Although  we  had  fled  before  our  enemies  from  time 
to  time,  even  until  we  found  refuge  in  the  place  Thou 


142  POEMS. 


hadst  appointed  for  us,  in  the  fastnesses  of  the  Rocky 
Mountains;  still  have  our  enemies  pursued  us  and  even 
here,  have  plotted  many  deep  plans  for  our  destruction. 

But  Thou,  the  King,  the  Lord  God  of  hosts,  hast  pre- 
served us — Thou  hast  wrought  out  for  us  a  bountiful 
salvation— Thou  hast  extended  unto  us  a  mighty 
deliverance. 

In  thine  own  wisdom  didst  Thou  devise  it,  and  by 
thine  own  might  didst  Thou  bring  it  to  pass. 

When  the  mouths  of  our  enemies  were  opened  wide 
to  devour  us — when  their  armies  were  encamped  about 
us,  and  were  greedy  to  seize  upon  us  to  make  us  their 
prey — when  they  thought  to  wipe  us  out  of  existence, 
and  were  just  ready  to  swallow  us  up;  then  Thou  didst 
put  a  hook  in  their  jaw — Thou  didst  hold  them  as  a 
horse  by  the  bit — Thou  didst  frustrate  all  their  schemes 
and  cause  them  to  be  covered  with  shame  and  confu- 
sion. 

Thy  Samts,  in  whose  hearts  richly  dwells  thy  Holy 
Spirit,  feel  to  praise  and  adore  thee;  and  by  thy  mercies 
and  thy  judgments  will  all  the  nations  of  the  earth  be 
taught  to  acknowledge  thy  power,  and  to  know  that 
the  Lord  God  Omnipotent  reigneth. 

Thou  hast  whispered  unto  them  by  the  gentle  voice 
of  thy  Spirit— Thou  hast  spoken  unto  them  by  thy  ser- 
vants, and  now  Thou  art  beginning  to  call  alond  unto 
them  by  the  voice  of  lightnings  and  thunders— by  the 


POEMS.  143 


voice  of    whirlwinds,  tempests,  wars,  pestilence  and 
famine.- 

Therefore,  let  the  honest  in  heart  make  haste  and 
gather  to  the  places  appointed,  and  let  the  inhabitants 
of  Zion  purify  their  hearts  and  sanctify  themselves  be- 
fore the  Lord,  and  prepare  for  the  day  that  is  approach- 
ing. 

For  a  great  and  terrible  day  is  near  at  hand,  even 
a  day  of  vengeance  and  recompense  for  the  ungodly, 

Let  all  those  tremble  who  have  sought  the  destruc- 
tion of  the  Lord's  Anointed,  and  let  dismay  and  fear- 
fulness  seize  upon  those  who,  having  been  taught  the 
way  of  life  and  salvation,  have  turned  away,  and  blas- 
phemed the  name  of  the  Holy  One  of  Israel. 

But  let  the  upright,  even  all  the  pure  in  heart,  who 
have  maintained  their  integrity,  and  who  have  labored 
for  the  welfare  of  Zion  and  the  salvation  of  their  fellow- 
men,  lift  up  their  heads  and  rejoice,  for  their  redemp- 
tion drawethnigh.    Praise  ye  the  Lord. 


144  POEMS. 


A  JUBILEE  POEM. 

For  the  24th  of  July,  1875. 


This  day,  on  history's  brightest  page,  will  live. 
With  honor's  purest  diadem,  adorned 
With  life's  chaste  gems  of  beauty  and  of  youth, 
We  now  embellish  it. 

This  is  the  day 
On  which  the  Pioneers  of  Utah  first, 
Not  yet  three  decades  since,  with  thankful  hearts, 
Entered  this  vale. 

'Twas  dry  and  desolate — 
But  they  had  come,  searching  their  way  across 
The  trackless  desert  plains,  to  find  a  home 
For  persecuted  Saints;  and  here  they  found 
A  parched  and  sterile  waste— the  heritage 
Of  crickets,  and  the  Indian's  stamping  ground; 
Which  none  but  those  who  fully  trusted  in 
The  living,  speaking  God  of  Abraham, 
Would  have  essayed,  or  struggled  to  reclaim. 

And,  sihce  the  tedious,  slowly  plodding  team 
Is  superseded  by  the  "iron  horse," 
And  time  and  distances  seem  swallow'd  up; 


POEMS.  145 

Recitals  of  the  stern  realities 
Experienced  in  our  weary  pilgrimage 
Across  tlie  plains,  fall  on  the  list'ning  ear, 
Like  studied  fables,  or  romantic  tales. 

God  led  the  Pioneers,  and  they,  the  Camps 
Of  Israel. 

Here,  a  nucleus  was  formed — 
A  bright  Oasjs,  like  a  Phoenix,  rose 
Upon  the  barren  waste — brought  forth  by  toil 
And  skill — by  constant  patience,  faith  and  prayer; 
And  now  the  wilderness  is  budding  as 
The  rose;  and  in  the  desert,  streams  break  forth. 

And  here,  God  has  a  purpose  to  fulfil: 
A  purpose  greater— more  important,  and 
Magnanimous  by  far,  than  ever  was 
Invented  by  the  human  brain,  is  couched 
In  these  strange  movements — in  the  grand  results; 
Not  merely  those  already  realized, 
But  yet  of  broader,  higher  magnitude, 
Embosom'd  in  the  undevelop'd  form 
Of  unborn  times,  and  will  immortalize 
Th'  eventful  day  we  now  commemorate. 

We  are  God's  children,  and  His  instruments 
To  execute  His  plans,  and  what  He  has 
Foretold  through  prophets,  by  Himself  inspired, 
Will*  to  the  letter,  all  be  verified. 

An  ancient  prophet,  when  the  holy  fire 
Of  inspiration  from  the  Deity 


14 


146  POEMS. 


Quicken 'd  his  senses  with  a  glowing  spark 
Of  light  divine,  beheld,  far  down  the  long, 
Dark  vista  of  the  Dispensations,  then 
Unfolded,  ours — the  present  one — the  last 
And  greatest:  'tis  the  Dispensation  of 
The  fulness  of  all  times — comprising  those 
Which  have  preceded;  and,  in  this,  he  saw 
In  the  lone  ' 'desert,  a  highway  cast  up," 
On  which  the  ransom'd  of  the  Lord  should  come 
From  every  clime  and  nation  under  heaven. 

God  will  establish  in  these  mountain  vales, 
The  Kingdom  Daniel  saw  in  vision,  which 
He  likened  to  a  "little  stone,"  that  rolled 
Down  from  the  mountain—growing,  moving  on, 
Until  it  filled  the  earth. 

A  portion  of 
The  elements  are  here  before  us,  in 
This  blooming  choir — this  mammoth  Jubilee, 
Where  youth  and  childhood— pure  and  innocent 
As  vestal  offerings,  and  beautiful 
As  ideality's  bright  pencilings, 
Unite  their  voices  in  Jehovah's  praise. 

O  may  these  germs  of  immortality 
Mature  in  wisdom's  true  intelligence, 
Endow'd  with  all  the  gifts  the  fulness  of 
The  everlasting  Gospel  can  confer. 

May  these  young  sons  of  Zion,  these  bright  boys, 
Be  stalwart  in  their  growth — be  champions  of, 


POEMS.  147 

And  valiant  for  eternal  truth — improve 
Upon  the  present  type  of  manhood,  and 
Foreshadow  a  still  higher  to  succeed; 
Become  staunch  men  of  God,  and  proof  against 
Th'  infectious  evils  rampant  in  the  world. 

May  these  fair  daughters — these    young  sprightly 
girls 
Preserve  their  purity — improve  in  mind — 
In  heart — in  manners,  grace  and  dignity — 
Scorning  to  be  the  idle  dolls  and  pets — 
Mere  playthings  on  the  stage  of  human  life, 
But  aim  at  higher,  grander  purposes — 
To  useful,  noble  womanhood,  to  be 
The  model  mothers  of  a  Godlike  race. 

Such  are  the  men  and  women  God  must  have 
To  consummate  the  work  of  Latter-day — 
To  be  His  instruments,  with  which  to  form 
The  basis  of  a  government  of  Peace — 
Of  Justice,  Truth  and  Equity — to  build 
His  Kingdom,  over  which,  the  Prince  of  Life, 
The  Prince  of  Peace,  our  King,  will  come  to  reign. 


148  POEMS. 


SONG  OF  A  MISSIONARY'S  CHILDREN. 


The  long,  long  time,  dear  father, 
Since  we  have  look'd  on  you; 

Makes  all  the  days  seem  longer — 
The  nights  seem  longer  too. 

While  in  a  distant  country, 

Across  the  mighty  sea; 
We  hope  you're  feeling  happy 

Wherever  you  may  be. 

Our  kind  good  mother  teaches 

Us  how  to  pray  for  you, 
When  we  kneel  down  together, 

At  night  and  morning  too. 

She  says  to  distant  nations, 
By  God's  command,  you're  sent, 

To  preach  the  glorious  gospel, 
And  we  must  be  content. 

We  pray  that  Jesus'  spirit 
May  ever  fill  your  heart; 

And  give  you  light  and  knowledge, 
To  others  to  impart: 


POEMS.  149 


That  thro*  your  heav'nly  counsel, 
The  humble  may  be  blest — 

The  pure  in  heart  directed, 
To  Zion  in  the  West. 

We  pray  that  God  will  give  you 
Good  health  and  appetite, 

With  wholesome  food  and  clothing, 
And  quiet  sleep  at  night. 

When  you  are  waiting  dinner, 
In  homes  across  the  sea — 

When  prattling  stranger  children 
Are  clinging  to  your  knee; 

While  gently  you  caress  them, 
Do  not  your  feelings  roam, 

With  fatherly  affection, 
To  your  dear  mountain  home, 

Where  loving  hearts  are  beating, 
And  pure  as  winter  snow — 

Where  brightest  eyes  are  beaming 
With  love's  deep  filial  glow? 

Yet  father — dearest  father, 
We  do  not — dare  not  pray 

For  your  return  to  Zion 
Till  God  shall  name  the  day. 


150  POEMS. 


ANNIE'S  SYMPATHY. 


Little  Annie  clung  to  her  mother's  side, 

And  the  tear-drops  stood  in  her  eye, 
As  she  saw  the  earth  wrapp'd  in  its  wintry  pride, 

And  heard  the  cold  blast  move  by. 

The  mother  said,  as  she  kissed  her  child, 

"My  darling  has  nothing  to  fear; 
Though  the  storm  without  is  fierce  and  wild, 

It  never  can  enter  here. 

Our  house  is  beautiful,  nice  and  warm, 

With  the  fire's  bright  cheerful  blaze: 
Your  father  provides  for  you  well;  like  a  charm 

You  shall  spend  the  wintry  days." 

"  Yes,  mother,  your  child  knows  your  words  are  true," 

The  dear  loving  Annie  replied, 
"I  have  all  that  I  need, — I  have  father  and  you, 

By  whom  every  want  is  supplied. 

But  I'm  thinking  of  poor  little  Carrie  and  Ned: 

Their  house  is  so  shabby  and  old,— 
Their  mother  is  sick  and  their  father  dead,— 

That  I  think  they  are  hungry  and  cold. 


POEMS.  151 


They  live  in  that  house  by  the  big  tall  oak 
Which  the  frost  and  the  winds  have  made  bare; 

I've  watched  the  chimney  and  see  no  smoke 
Rise  up  on  the  stormy  air. 

No  kind  father's  footsteps  are  ever  heard 
On  that  threshold  where  orphans  tread — 

No  father's  lips  with  a  loving  word, 
Nor  his  hand  to  provide  them  bread." 

This  short  speech  was  made  without  guile  or  art; 

It  was  love's  sweet,  innocent  strain; 
The  appeal  was  made  to  a  mother's  heart, 

And  it  was  not  made  in  vain. 

The  mother  in  haste  envelop 'd  her  form, 

With  sympathy  warm  in  her  breast; 
Kiss'd  the  daughter  good-bye,  and  braved  the  storm, 

To  rescue  the  poor  distress'd. 

Her  purse  was  large  and  her  hands  not  slack, 
And  the  old  house  was  rill'd  with  joy; 

And  Annie's  heart,  when  her  mother  came  back, 
Beat  with  pleasure  without  alloy. 


152  POEMS. 


ANGEL  WHISPERINGS  TO  THE  DYING  CHILD. 


Darling,  we  are  waiting  for  thee, 

Hasten,  now: 
Go  with  us,  where  wreaths  are  twining 

For  thy  brow. 

In  the  innocence  of  childhood, 

Thou  wilt  be 
HaiPd  with  gentle  shouts  of  welcome, 

And  of  glee. 

Joyous  cherubs  wait  thy  coming 

Up  above; 
Ready  now  to  crown  and  bless  thee, 

With' their  love. 

Loved  one,  haste — delay  no  longer — 

With  us  go 
From  a  clime  that  intermingles 

Joy  and  woe. 

Go  with  us'to  heav'nly  arbors, 

Deck'd  with  flow'rs; 
Where  ambrosial  fragrance,  streaming, 

Fills  the  bow'rs. 


POEMS.  153 

Thou  art  pure — by  earth's  corruptions 

Undented; 
From  the  ills  of  life,  we'll  take  thee, 

Sinless  child. 

Friends  will  mourn,  but  this  bereavement 

They'll  endure; 
Knowing  that  their  cherished  darling 

Is  secure. 

Like  a  rosebud  yet  unopen'd, 

Thou  shalt  bloom; 
Where  no  blight  shall  mar  thy  freshness, 

And  perfume. 

Child,  we're  waiting  now  to  bear  thee 

To  our  home, 
Full  of  life — of  love  and  beauty, 

Darling,  come. 


MY  FATHER  DEAR. 

Tune— "My  Mother  Dear." 


My  own  indulgent  father; 

Most  good  and  kind  to  me, 
My  heait  is  full  of  gratitude, 

As  heart  of  child  can  be. 


154  POEMS. 


The  sweetest  tones  cannot  express 

What  my  young  bosom  feels, 
For  all  the  love  and  tenderness, 
A  father's  care  reveals. 

My  father  dear — 
My  father  dear — 
My  own  kind,  loving  father. 

My  earthly  gifts  and  blessings, 

From  father's  bounties  flow: 

O,  how  shall  I  the  debt  repay? 

What  can  a  child  bestow? 
I  will  not  deign  an  offering 

From  mammon's  shining  mart — 
A  richer  token,  I  will  bring — 
A  tribute  from  the  heart. 

My  father  dear — 
My  father  dear — 
My  own  kind,  loving  father. 

I  think  upon  his  kindness, 
And  fond  emotions  swell 
From  pure  affection's  fountain  streams, 

And  more  than  words  can  tell. 
The  purpose  of  my  heart  shall  be 

My  gratitude  to  prove, 
And  with  my  life's  integrity, 
To  testify  my  love. 

My  father  dear — 
My  father  dear — 
My  own  kind,  loving  father. 


POEMS.  155 


SANTA  CLADS. 


Remember  your  time  honor'd  laws, 
Kind  master  of  the  merry  glee : 

Prepare  your  gifts,  good  Santa  Claus, 
And  hang  them  on  the  Christmas  tree. 

And  where  no  Christmas  trees  are  found, 
With  liberal  hand  your  gifts  distill; 

The  bags  and  stockings  hanging  'round, 
Great  Santa  Claus,  be  sure  to  fill. 

Untie  your  purse —  enlarge  your  heai  t — 
O,  do  not  pass  one  single  door; 

And  in  your  gen'rous  walk  impart 
Your  comforts  to  the  sick  and  poor. 

When  eyes  are  watching  for  the  morn, 
In  humble  hut  and  cottage  too; 

How  disappointed  and  forlorn, 
If  missed,  dear  Santa  Claus,  by  you. 

Go  all  the  rounds  of  baby-hood, 

And  bless  and  cheer  the  hearts  of  all 

The  "little  folks,"  and  please  be  good 
To  those  who're  not  so  very  small. 


156  POEMS. 


ADDRESS  TO  PARENTS. 

Before  an  Assembly  of  the  Polysophical   Association, 
Salt  Lake  City. 


With  much  respect,  Fathers,  and  Mothers  too, 
The  Muse,  this  evening,  humbly  unto  you, 
In  Zion's  name,  would  proffer  an  appeal 
Upon  a  theme  involving  Zion's  weal. 
As  Zion's  welfare  is  our  mutual  aim, 
And  our  united  interest,  I  will  claim 
Not  the  indulgence  of  the  list'ning  ear, 
Nor  nattering  plaudits,  sycophants  would  hear; 
But  your  attention,  thoughtful,  calm  and  grave — 
Your  sober  judgment,  I  would  fondly  crave. 

You  all  are  stewards  of  what  you  possess, 
And  may  abuse,  or  use  in  righteousness: 
And  thus,  the  children  you  most  dearly  love, 
May  prove  a  blessing,  or  a  curse,  may  prove. 

The  infant  mind  is  like  an  empty  cell 
Where  good  and  evil  find  a  place  to  dwell; 
And  may,  by  culture,  be  enlarged  and  filled, 
And  truth  and  error,  one  or  both,  instil'd. 

Let  healthy,  vigorous  limbs  inactive  lie, 
How  soon  they  wither,  and  how  soon  they  die! 


POEMS.  157 


And  without  exercise,  the  mental  powers, 
Weak,  unsupplied  with  proper,  useful  stores, 
Will  not  attain  to  their  diplomad  worth, 
Nor  shed  their  own  inherent  lustre  forth. 
We  cannot  powers  and  faculties  create, 
But  'tis  our  province,  both  to  cultivate: 
And  while  life's  busy  scenes  are  hurrying  thro', 
The  most  important  is  the  first  to  do. 
You  want  your  sons  prepared  to  carry  on 
The  work  you  have  commenced,  when  you  are  gone — 
In  high,  important  offices  to  act — 
As  Zion's  Judges,  business  to  transact, 
In  things  momentous,  for  "all  Israel's  sake, 
With  the  salvation  of  the  world  at  stake. 
Inspire  their  minds  to  earnestly  pursue 
Improvement,  and  inspire  your  daughters  too; 
Prompt  both  to  mental  labor,  while  the  mind. 
Like  pliant  boughs,  is  easily  inclined — 
While  they  with  readiness  and  pleasure  take 
Th'  impressions  which  the  sculptor's  chisels  make. 

Your  sons,  as  heralds,  soon  may  go  abroad, 
To  face  the  world  and  teach  the  truths  of  God — 
The  wise — the  erudite  of  earth  to  meet — 
Knowledge  with  knowledge—mind  with  mind  compete- 
All  their  attainments  criticised  and  tried 
Before  tribunals  of  ungodly  pride, 
Where  no  apologies  will  be  received, 
And  no  mistakes  and  errors  be  retrieved. 

'Tis  true,  the  Lord  his  spirit  does  bestow, 
And  thro'  that  medium  streams  of  knowledge  flow: 


158  POEMS. 


But  when  the  opportunities  are  given, 
Thro'  the  o'erruling  providence  of  heaven, 
For  cultivation,  no  one  need  expect 
That  God  with  smiles  will  sanction  our  neglect. 
Would  not  your  bowels  of  compassion  yearn, 
To  think  your  child  iu  stranger  lands  must  learn 
By  force  of  cruel  circumstances,  what 
He  might  have  been,  at  home,  in  kindness  taught? 

And  very  soon  your  blooming  daughters  will 
Their  destined  spheres,  as  wives  and  mothers,  fill. 
The  best,  the  noblest  boon  they  can  receive— 
The  richest  fortune  you  have  power  to  give — 
The  best  of  patrimonies  under  heaven, 
Is  education,  timely,  wisely  given. 

Not  eruditions  superficial  gloss — 
Its  glitt'ring  tinsel  and  its  flimsy  dross. 
Instead  of  fabled,  sentimental  glare, 
Teach  them  what  was,  what  will  be  and  what  are. 
Teach  them  the  principles  of  life  and  health, 
And  store  their  minds  with  intellectual  wealth; 
For  all  they  treasure  here,  of  mental  worth, 
They'll  carry  with  them  when  they  leave  the  earth. 

The  power  of  method,  students  gain  in  school, 
Forms  a  credential — constitutes  a  tool, 
An  operative  instrument,  whereby 
Their  own  resources,  they  can  self-supply. 

Let  Zion's  children  all,  be  taught  in  youth, 
Upon  the  basis  of  Eternal  Truth— 


POEMS.  159 

Self -cultivated  too,  as  well  as  taught — 

Trained  to  reflection  and  inured  to  thought; 

And  here  in  time,  and  in  Eternity, 

The  sons,  as  pillars  in  the  church,  will  be: 

The  daughters  too,  as  "polished  stones"  will  shine, 

And  ornament  their  true  ancestral  line, 

And  be  prepared,  in  beauty  clad,  to  move 

With  grace  and  dignity,  in  courts  above. 


IN  MEMORIAL 

Sacred  to  the  memory  of  my  Sister,  Leonora  A.  Snow 
Morley,  who  departed  this  life  February  11th,  1872. 


'Tis  sad  to  part  with  those  we  dearly  love, 
But  parting  comes  to  all. 

No  purer  tie — 
No  holier  sympathy  warms  human  breast, 
Than  that  of  loving  sisterhood,  where  heart 
To  heart  is  joined  and  interwoven  with 
A  long,  well  tested  and  unbroken  chain 
Of  mutual  confidence— a  confidence 
Unstirred  by  envy,  jealousy,  or  breach 


160  POEMS. 


Of  sacred  trust.    Where  thought's  wide,  ample  stream 
Flows  unabridg'd:    Where  each  can  think  aloud. 

Such  was  the  love-inspiring  confidence, 
Strengthened  as  years  accumulated  with 
My  sister  and  myself.    Ours  was  the  sweet 
Reciprocation,  where  each  sentiment 
Found  safe  repository — safe  as  heaven's 
Eternal  Archives. 

But  my  sister's  gone! 
I  feared — I  felt — I  knew  she  soon  must  go: 
But  as  beside  her  bed  I  watched,  and  saw 
The  last  faint  breath  that  fed  the  springs  of  life 
Exhaled,  it  seemed  frail  nature's  finest  cord 
Was  torn  asunder,  and  a  crushing  sense 
Of  loneliness,  like  solitude's  deep  shade, 
In  that  unguarded  moment,  made  me  feel 
As  though  the  lights  of  earth  had  all  gone  out, 
And  left  me  desolate. 

I  knew  'twas  false — 
I  knew  that  many  noble,  loving  ones, 
And  true,  remained;  but  none  can  fill 
The  vacant  place:  it  is  impossible. 
Th'  endearing  ties,  as  Saints  of  God,  we  hold, 
The  ties  of  consanguinity — secured 
By  sacred  cov'nants  which  the  Priesthood  binds 
On  earth,  and  they're  recorded  in  the  heavens, 
We  shall  perpe^uate„beyojid.the  grave: 
Eternal  union  with  the  cherish'd  ones, 
Will  crown  the  glory  of  immortal  lives. 


POEMS.  161 


True  love  may  multiply  its  objects  most 
Extensively,  without  diminishing 
Its  strength;  but  love  accepts  no  substitute. 

When  the  fond  mother  lays  her  darling  down 
In  death's  cold,  silent  sleep;  though  others  may 
Be  added  to  her  arms,  the  vacancy 
Remains  until  the  resurrection  shall 
Give  back  her  child. 

My  sister,  valiantly 
Life's  changeful  battle  waged — her  life  was  full 
Of  years:  her  years  were  filled  with  usefulness: 
Her  trust  was  in  the  living  God,  who  hears 
And  speaks  as  He  was  wTont  to  hear  and  speak; 
She  loved  the  Gospel  and  exemplified 
It  in  her  life.    Her  heart  knew  no  deceit — 
Her  lips  ne'er  moved  with  fulsome  flattery — 
Her  tongue  with  guile. 

Other  positions  of 
Responsibility,  as  well  as  those 
Of  wife  and  mother,  she  has  nobly  filled. 
Her  sun  went  down  in  peace.    Death  had,  for  her, 
No  sting— the  grave  will  have  no  victory. 
Her  noble  spirit  lives,  and  dwells  above. 

The  casket  rests—the  pure,  component  part, 
Th'  eternal  portion  of  the  human  form, 
In  life  combined  with  impure  elements, 
Sleeps  in  the  bosom  of  our  mother  Earth, 
Secure  from  nature's  changing  processes — 
Despite  decomposition's  complex  skill, 


15 


162  POEMS. 

Until  the  glorious  resurrection  morn: 

'Twill  then  come  forth  in  triumph  o'er  the  tomb, 

And  clothe  the  spirit  in  immortal  bloom. 

Adieu  my  sister — we  shall  meet  again 
On  earth,  and  share  Messiah's  glorious  reign. 


IN  MEMORY  OF  WILLARD  RICHARDS, 

Counselor  to  President  Brigham  Young, 


Hear  that  low,  plaintive  sound!    why  so  slowly  that 
beU? 
List — list  to  the  tones — 'tis  a  funeral  knell: 
And  I  catch  from  the  breezes'  sad  murmuring  tread, 
A  faint  whisper  that  says,  Brother  Willard  is  dead! 

He's  not  dead:    He  has  laid  his  mortality  by, 
And  has  gone  to  appear  in  the  councils  on  high— 
In  the  bonds  of  pure  fellowship;  there  to  be 
With  the  Saviors  that  dwell  in  Eternity. 

We  miss  him — we  miss  him:    but  why   should  we 

mourn? 
He's  in  patience,  life's  struggles  and  weaknesses  borne: 
He  has  fought  the  good  fight,  and  the  victory  gained, 
And,  through  faith,  immortality's  powers  attained. 


POEMS.  163 


He  was  prudent  and  wise — he  was  true  to  his  trust- 
He  has  gone  to  unite  with  the  noble  and  just; 
Whose  afflictions,  in  time,  he  was  happy  to  share, 
And  he  freely  partakes  of  their  blessings  there, 

As  a  friend — as  a  brother,  we  lov'd  him  well; 
But  now  he  has  gone  with  the  Gods  to  dwell — 
To  partake  with  the  martyrs  a  banquet  of  love: 
There  is  joy — there  are  shouts  in  the  world  above. 


Salt  Lake  City,  March,  1854. 


REFLECTIONS  ON  THE  DEPARTURE  OF  JEDEDIAH 
M.  GRANT, 

Counselor  to  President  Brigham  Young. 


He's  gone,  'tis  true,  but  yet,  he  is  not  dead: 
Such  men  as  Jedediah  do  not  die. 
Death  came  as  a  swift  messenger  from  God, 
And  cut  the  thread  that  bound  the  mantle  of 
Mortality  around  him,  and  he  shook 
It  off,  a  senseless,  lifeless  mass  of  earth. 
It  fill'd  its  sphere  in  life — he  honor'd  it, 
Keeping  it  pure  from  all  defilement;  and 
He  sanctified  it  as  a  temple  for 
The  Holy  Ghost:  in  which  it  truly  dwelt. 


164  POEMS. 


He  needs  no  eulogy  to  speak  his  worth — 
His  works  and  faithfulness  eclipse  all  praise, 
His  life  personified  integrity: 
Few  such  men  live — few  such  have  ever  liv'd. 

The  world,  to  cover  up,  and  hide  its  own 
Cold-hearted  selfishness,  oft  will  applaud 
The  merciful,  but  who  applauds  the  just? 
He  had  the  moral  courage  to  be  just, 
And  he  was  just  as  well  as  merciful. 

Some  say  that  Jedediah's  gone  to  rest. 
They  mean  mortality,  not  him.    To  rest? 
No:  J.  M.  Grant  could  never  rest,  and  leave 
His  fellow-laborers  here  to  tug  and  toil — 
Spend  and  be  spent,  to  move  the  mighty  ship 
Of  Zion  on.    No,  no:  that  never  was 
His  calling.    He  will  never  rest,  until 
Zion's  redeem 'd — Jerusalem  built  up — 
Iniquity  destroy'd,  and  satan  bound. 
He'll  not  relax  in  faith  and  diligence 
Until  his  brethren  shall  with  him  partake 
The  promis'd  blessings  of  a  glorious  rest. 

He  boldly  fought  the  pow'rs  of  darkness  here 
And  he'll  oppose  them  there,  with  all  his  might; 
Till  satan  and  his  hosts  are  overcome— 
Till  truth  and  righteousness  on  earth  shall  reign. 

We  know  he's  gone!    We  feel  it  deeply  too; 
But  wherefore  should  we  mourn?    He  only  liv'd 
For  Zion  here — he  lives  for  Zion  still. 
He  lives,  and  lives  where  the  gross,  cumbrous  clog 


POEMS.  165 


Of  frail  mortality  cannot  impede 
The  steady  progress  of  his  upward  course. 
He's  gone  with  all  the  gospel  armor  on: 
And  where  he'll  fight  the  battles  of  the  Lord, 
With  even  greater  pow'r  and  skill  than  he 
Was  wont  to  do  while  cloth'd  with  mortal  flesh. 
Yes,  such  was  Jedediah:  He  was  true 
To  his  profession— true  to  God  and  man. 


Salt  Lake  City,  Dec.  4,  1856. 


LINES 

Written  for  the  Occasion,  and  Sung  at  the  Funeral  of 
Heber  C.  Kimball,  Counselor  to  Presi- 
dent Brigham  Young. 


Be  cheered,  O  Zion!— cease  to  weep: 

Heber  we  deeply  loved: 
He  is  not  dead — he  does  not  sleep — 

He  lives  with  those  above. 

His  flesh  was  weary:  let  it  rest 
Entomb'd  in  mother  Earth, 

Till  Jesus  comes;  when  pure  and  blest, 
Immortal  'twill  come  forth. 


166  POEMS. 


His  mighty  spirit,  pure  and  free 
From  every  bond  of  earth; 

In  realms  of  bright  Eternity, 
Is  crowned  with  spotless  worth. 

He  lives  for  Zion:  he  has  gone 
To  plead  her  cause  above, 

Before  the  High  and  Holy  One, 
Injustice,  truth  and  love. 

Let  wives  and  children  humbly  kiss 

The  deep  afflictive  rod: 
A  "  father  to  the  fatherless, " 

God  is  "the  widow's  God." 

S.  L.  City,  June  24,  1868. 


IN  MEMORY  OF  GEORGE  A.  SMITH, 

Counselor    to    President    Brig  ham    Young. 


A  friend  of  God — a  friend  of  man — a  kind 
And  loving  husband,  father,  brother,  Saint, 
Has  gone! 

The  deep,  sad  sense  of  loneliness, 
Felt  in  the  soft  and  soothing  whisperings 


POEMS.  167 


Of  twilight  zephyrs  as  they  gently  move, 
And  seem  in  mournful  requiem  to  chant 
The  solemn  fact,  speaks  volumes  to  the  heart. 

He  is  not  dead;  yet,  death  has  done  its  work; 
It  came,  but  not  in  ghastliness — it  as 
A  kindly  porter  set  the  "gates  ajar," 
And  he  stepped  forth,  leaving  the  tenement 
A  breathless  corse,  that  slumbers  in  the  tomb; 
'Twas  worn  and  weary  and  it  needed  rest. 
No  faith,  nor  prayers,  nor  the  heart-yearnings  of 
The  loving  and  beloved,  could  longer  bind 
That  mighty  spirit  in  an  earthy  form. 

The  wreath  which  mem'ry  twines  for  him  around 
The  warm  affections  of  the  Saints  of.  God, 
Will  still  be  bright,  and  fresh  with  fragrance,  when 
The  tallest,  proudest  monumental  spires, 
That  grace  the  tombs  of  earthly  royalties, 
Have  crumbled  'neath  the  with 'ring  stroke  of  Time. 

He  made  his  mark  in  honor's  upward  path; 
And  his  example  is  to  those  he  loves, 
The  richest  legacy  he  could  bequeath. 

With  firm  integrity,  unflinchingly 
He's  "  fought  the  fight  of  faith."    He's  nobly  fought 
The  powers  of  darkness — stem'd  the  foaming  tide 
Of  ignorance,  prejudice  and  bigotry, 
Combined  in  force  against  Eternal  Truth; 
And  now,  disrobed  of  frail  mortality's 
Encumbrances,  he  joins  the  mighty  host 


168  POEMS. 


Of  valiant  vet'rans  of  the  cross,  who're  all 

Co-operating  with  the  Saints  on  earth; 

And  with  that  band  he'll  shout  triumphant  strains. 

Here,  he  was  humble  as  a  little  child, 
And  yet,  as  boldest  lion,  he  was  bold 
And  brave.    Unflinchingly  he  ever  dared 
What  is  no  ordinary  daring  in 
This  fawning,  sycophantic  age;  he  dared 
To  speak  the  truth.    He  verily  is  one 
Of  God's  best  specimens  of  genuine 
Nobility,  i.e.,  an  honest  man. 
We're  proud  to  know  he  was  and  is  our  friend. 

"  Peace  to  his  ashes."    His  loved  memory 
Needs  not  of  mortal  praise.    His  works  abide; 
And  he,  with  all  whose  lives  are  fashioned  by 
The  unadulterated  Gospel's  mould, 
Will  live  eternally  where  God  shall  reign. 


Salt  Lake  City,  Sept.  11,  1875 


POEMS.  169 


CAROLINE. 

Inscribed  to  Elder  Henry  Maiben. 


To  live  a  Saint— a  Saint  to  die 
Perfects  the  aim  of  mortal  life — 
Secures  the  key  to  courts  on  high, 
With  all  the  powers  of  being,  rife. 

Thus,  when  a  ling'ring,  parting  look 
Of  that  dear  gemless  casket  form, 
Which  in  the  coffin  lay,  I  took, 
This  thought  diffused  a  soothing  charm. 

For  she  was  faithful  to  the  end — 
In  life's  associations,  true — 
An  upright,  kind,  confiding  friend — 
A  faithful  wife,  and  mother  too. 

Peace  to  her  dust:    Your  Caroline 
Lives  where  no  earthly  ills  betide: 
In  brighter  spheres  her  graces  shine: 
She  lived  a  Saint — a  Saint  she  died. 

Salt  Lake  City,  Oct.  17,  1864. 


16 


170  POEMS. 


ALICE. 


She  is  not  dead.    She  has  laid  aside 

The  visible,  mortal  form: 
Until  the  dust  shall  be  purified 

And  come  forth  with  a  brighter  charm. 

The  casket  was  beautiful,  lovely,  and  fair, 

While  the  jewel  within  it  shone — 
The  sweet  spirit  is  now  where  the  holy  ones  are; 

But  the  earth  must  return  to  its  own. 

O,  she  was  too  pure  for  a  world  like  this: 

She  has  gone  to  a  happier  sphere: 
To  partake  with  the  perfect  above,  of  bliss, 

Which  she  never  had  tasted  here. 

She  pass'd  like  a  fragrant,  blooming  flow'r, 
From  the  coarse,  rugged  scenes  of  time; 

To  a  world  where  disease  can  have  no  pow'r — 
To  a  pare  and  celestial  clime. 

We  behold  her  not,  tho'  she  is  not  far; 

And  her  spirit  will  often  come 
To  minister  where  her  dear  parents  are, 

Till  they  meet  in  her  beautiful  home. 


POEMS.  171 


ELOQUENCE. 


There  is  an  eloquence  that  breathes  throughout 
The  world  inanimate.    There  is  a  tone, 
A  silent  tone  of  speech,  that  meets  the  heart 
In  whisperings  pathetic,  soft  and  sweet — 
Like  the  enchantments  of  the  night,  which  move 
On  slumber's  downy  chariot  wheels,  and  clothe 
In  charming  playfulness,  the  hours  of  rest. 

The  clouds  that  float  in  fleecy  sheets  across 
The  pale  blue  canopy,  or  rest  upon 
The  lofty  mountain-side,  or  else  condensed, 
Roll  up  in  massy  form  and  feature  dark — 
The  sun  which  moves  in  silent  majesty, 
And  spreads  its  beams  of  light  and  day  abroad — 
The  placid  moon,  and  nightly  glittering  orbs, 
All  seem  to  utter  tones  of  eloquence. 

What  is  the  little  insect's  buzz,  and  what 
The  rustling  of  a  straw,  to  the  sweet  notes 
That  flow  harmonious  from  the  harpsichord? 
And  what  is  silent  nature's  eloquence, 
To  the  imperial  eloquence  of  words 
Whose  pathos  is  intelligence?    Flowing 
From  lips  by  wisdom's  touch  inspired,  it  charms- 


172  POEMS. 


It  captivates  the  soul;  it  wields  a  power 

Above  the  harmony  of  David's  harp, 

Which  charmed  to  peace  the  evil-haunted  Saul. 

Brown  melancholy,  sober  pensiveness, 
And  all  such  moody  spirits  lose  their  grasp, 
And  fly  like  mists  before  the  rising  sun, 
When  language,  with  instruction  richly  fraught, 
Or  with  amusement's  mingled  colors  tinged, 
Moving  in  earnest  strains  of  eloquence, 
Falls  in  rich  cadence  on  the  feeling  heart. 

There  is  a  charm  in  music:  I  have  felt 
The  magic  of  its  wand,  and  felt  my  heart 
Melt  by  the  witching  of  the  power  of  sound: 
But  'tis  the  sovereign  power  of  speech  that  breaks 
Inertia's  pond'rous  chain,  and  gives  us  all 
Creation's  wide  extent  to  range.     What  else 
Will  lift  the  sluggish  spirit  from  the  throne 
Of  idol-self,  to  magnanimity? 

Far  back  in  olden  times,  when  Moses  led 
From  Egypt's  land  the  captive  chosen  tribes, 
The  power  of  eloquence  high  honors  gained. 
Moses  was  "  slow  of  speech,"  but  Aaron  plied 
This  potent  modeler  of  the  human  mind. 

But  what  can  paint  the  beauties,  or  can  tell 
The  force  of  eloquence,  but  eloquence? 
And  what's  all  other  eloquence,  compared 
With  the  bold  eloquence  of  Truth,  when  couch'd 
In  plainness,  flowing  from  the  lips  of  men 


POEMS.  173 

Of  God,  clothed  with  the  Holy  Priesthood,  and 

Inspired  by  the  Eternal's  spirit?    Truth 

That  in  one  grasp,  the  future,  present,  past, 

Time  and  eternity,  and  life  and  death, 

Mortality  and  immortality,  and  the 

Whole  destiny  of  man  and  earth,  combines. 

This,  this  I  call  undying  eloquence, 

With  rights  and  powers  to  probe  corruption's  depths — 

Expose  iniquity,  and  point  the  shaft 

Of  death  at  Error. 

This  is  Eloquence 
That  breathes  forth  living  fire,  and  animates 
The  soul  of  thought,  and  lifts  it  upward  to 
The  courts  of  endless  day,  to  bask  itself 
In  the  pavilion  of  Omnipotence. 


WOMAN. 

Address  written  for,  and  read  in  an  assembly  of  the 
Polysophical  Association,  in  President 
L.  Snow's  Hall. 


Before  this  noble  audience,  once  again 
A  Lyre  of  Zion  now  resumes  its  strain. 

Thought  is  a  currency:    Speech  is  designed 
To  circulate  the  treasures  of  the  mind. 


174  POEMS. 


When  this  Association  meets,  this  Hall 

Extends  a  mutual  fellowship  to  all; 

And  constitutes  an  intellectual  mint, 

Where  words  are  coined — ideas  take  their  tint — 

Where  Morals,  Arts,  and  Sciences  are  taught — 

Mind  prompting  mind,  and  thought  inspiring  thought. 

When  last  assembled,  Woman's^worth  and  sphere 
Were  beautifully  illustrated  here: 
And  then  the  thought  suggested  to  my  view, 
That  Woman's  self  might  speak  of  Woman  too; 
But  not  for  "  Woman's  Rights  "  to  plead,  or  claim: 
For  that,  in  Zion,  I  should  blush  to  name: 
Unasked,  unsought,  we  freely  here  obtain 
What  Woman  elsewhere  seeks  and^asks  in  yain. 

I  have  apologies  to  offer  here 
For  ladies  who  demand  a  wider  sphere: 
Having  obtained  enough  of  truthful  light 
To  see  life's  strange  perversions  ofttie  right, 
They  seek  with  noble,  yet  with  fruitless  aim, 
Corruptions  and  abuses  to  reclaim: 
With  all  their  efforts  to  remove  the  curse 
Matters  are  daily  growing  worse  and  worse; 
They  can  as  well  unlock  without  a  key, 
As  change  the  tide  of  man's  degeneracy, 
Without  the  Holy, Priesthood:  'tis  almost 
Like  reck'ning  bills  in  absence  of  the  host. 

No  more  of  this:    I'll  speak  of  Woman  now 
Where  Inspiration's  powers,  the  mind  endow— 


POEMS.  175 


Where  rules  are  given  to  renovate  the  earth — 
To  try  all  textures  and  to  prove  all  worth. 

And  what  is  Woman's  calling?     Where  her  place? 
Is  she  destined  to  honor,  or  disgrace? 

The  time  is  past  for  her  to  reign  alone, 
And  singly,  make  a  husband's  heart  her  throne: 
No  more  she  stands  with  sov'reignty  confess'd 
Nor  yet  a  plaything,  dandled  and  caressed; 
Neither  a  dazzling  butterfly,  nor  mote 
On  light,  ethereal,  balmy  waves  to  float. 

Hers  is  a  holy  calling,  and  her  lot 
With  consequences  highly,  deeply  fraught. 
"Helpmeet"  for  Man — with  him  she  holds  a  key 
Of  present  and  eternal  destiny. 
She  bends  from  life's  illusive  greatness,  down- 
She  "stoops  to  conquer" — serves,  to  earn  a  crown. 

Love,  kindness,  rectitude  with  wisdom  fraught, 
Give  Woman  greatness,  wheresoe'er  her  lot: 
However  great,  let  once  her  aim  be  power — 
Her  greatness  lessens  from  that  very  hour. 
Aspiring  brains  fictitious  heights  create, 
And  seek  to  clothe  in  greatness  ere  they're  great. 
All  dignity  is  but  an  idle  sport 
If  goodness  forms  no  pillar  for  support. 

Who  through  submission,  faith  and  constancy, 
Like  ancient  Sarah,  gains  celebrity, 
And  thus  obtains  an  honorable  place, 
A  high  position  may  sustain  and  grace. 


176  POEMS. 

That  there  are  rights  and  privileges  too, 
To  Woman's  sphere,  and  to  her  duties,  due, 
Reason  and  justice,  truth  and  heaven  confirm; 
But  they're  not  held  by  force,  nor  took  by  storm. 

If  "Rights"  are  right  when  they  are  rightly  gained, 
"Rights"  must  be  wrong  when  wrongfully  obtained: 
The  putting  forth  a  hand  to  take  the  prize, 
Before  we  fairly  win  it  is  unwise. 

Let  Woman  then  a  course  in  life  pursue 
To  win  respect  as  merits  honest  due, 
And,  feeling  God's  approval,  act  her  part, 
With  noble  independence  in  her  heart; 
Nor  change,  nor  swerve,  nor  shrink,  whatever  is, 
Tho'  fools  may  scoff— impertinence  may  quiz: 
Faithful  tho'  oft  in  faithfulness  unknown— 
With  no  whereon  to  lean,  but  God  alone. 
Then,  by  the  laws  that  rule  the  courts  above, 
She  holds  the  Charter  to  eternal  love; 
Which,  built  on  confidence,  and  nobly  won, 
In  time  to  come,  will  gen'rously  atone 
For  all  she  feels  at  times,  neglected  now — 
Misjudged  and  unappreciated  too. 
With  chaff  and  tares,  wheat  may  be  buried  low- 
Gold  hid  in  dross,  where  none  but  angels  know. 

Wit,  youth  and  beauty,  may  a  charm  impart, 
Which  twines  a  magic  spell  around  the  heart — 
A  transient  infl'ence— ever  prone  to  wane 
Where  sterling  worth,  the  charm  does  not  sustain. 

The  jewel,  confidence,  is  far  above 
The  fickle  streams  of  earth's  degen'rate  love. 


POEMS.  177 


Nature  inviolate  holds  certain  laws — 
There's  no  effect  produced  without  a  cause: 
Integrity  and  faithfulness,  through  hard 
And  patient  labor,  reap  their  own  reward, 
The  gains  of  craft  will  take  their  own  light  wings, 
And  all  assumptions  are  but  short-lived  things. 

As  we  move  forward  to  a  perfect  state 
And  leave  the  dross,  degeneracies  create, 
Laws  of  affinity  will  closely  bind 
Heart  unto  heart— congenial  mind  to  mind. 

Life,  order— all  things  are  in  embryo, 
And  thro'  experience,  God  is  teaching  how 
To  mould — to  fashion  to  the  pattern  given, 
And  form  on  earth  a  duplicate  of  heaven. 

A  calm  must  be  preceded  by  a  storm, 
And  revolutions  go  before  reform: 
Faith,  practice,  heads  and  hearts  must  all  be  tried, 
To  test  what  can  and  what  cannot  abide. 

When  shakings,  tossings,  changings,  all  are  through- 
All  things  their  level  find — their  classes  too; 
A  perfect  Government  will  be  restored, 
And  Truth  and  Holiness  and  God  ador'd. 

But  ere  this  renovating  work  is  through, 
Woman,  as  well  as  Man,  has  much  to  do: 
Responsibilities,  however  great, 
Advancing  onward,  will  increase  in  weight; 
And  she,  that  she  receiving,  may  dispense, 
Needs  wisdom,  knowledge  and  intelligence; 


178  POEMS. 


Of  high  refinements  too,  she  should  partake, 
With  rich  endowments,  for  her  offspring's  sake. 

Queen  of  her  household—authorized  to  bless — 
To  plant  the  principles  of  righteousness — 
To  paint  the  guide-board  that  thro'  life  will  tell, 
And  lead  instinctively  to  heaven  or  hell — 
To  fix  the  base,  the  fundamental  part 
Of  future  greatness  in  the  head  and  heart, 
Which  constitutes  the  germ  of  what  will  be 
In  upper  courts  of  Immortality. 

What  we  experience  here,  is  but  a  school 
Wherein  the  ruled  will  be  prepared  to  rule. 
The  secret  and  the  key,  the  spring,  the  soul 
Of  rule — of  government,  is  self  control. 

Clothed  with  the  beauties  purity  reflects, 
Th'  acknowledg'd  glory  of  the  other  sex, 
From  life's  crude  dross  and  rubbish,  will  come  forth, 
By  weight  of  character — by  strength  of  worth; 
And  thro'  obedience,  Woman  will  obtain 
The  power  of  reigning,  and  the  right  to  reign. 


POEMS.  179 


ONE  OF  TIME'S  CHANGES. 


The  times  are  chang'd  from  what  they  were, 
When  all  the  fairest  of  the  fair, 
Whom  Fame  immortaliz'd  as  "beauties," 
Were  skillful  in  domestic  duties. 

Some  modern  Misses  scarce  believe 
That  Ladies  us'd  to  spin  and  weave; 
Or  that  gay  princesses  of  yore, 
Wrought  the  rich  garments,  princes  wore. 

When  Fashion  with  proud  Folly  met, 
The  stars  of  Industry,  all  set; 
Pleasure  and  Profit  then  disbanded, 
And  Labor,  like  grim  Want,  was  branded. 

'Twas  strange  as  foolish — but  it  got  so, 
Who  were  not  idle,  would  be  thought  so; 
And  would  be  ladies  grew  so  common, 
They  rose  en  masse,  to  plunder  mammon. 

The  lamp  which  lights  the  latter-day, 
Will  clear  the  mists  and  fogs  away; 
And  for  our  future  practice,  leave 
The  web  of  wisdom,  heav'n  shall  weave. 


180  POEMS. 

The  Saints  must  break  false  habit's  chain, 
And  things  to  right,  restore  again — 
Turn  Fashion's  tide  to  noble  uses, 
And  thus  redeem  its  long  abuses. 

To  stamp  respectability 
On  what  begets  utility; 
Will  hasten  earth's  regeneration, 
And  us  an  independent  nation. 

We  need  not  take  the  world  by  storm: 
We  hold  the  keys  to  all  reform: 
Then  let  us  not  in  folly  spurn  them, 
But  rise,  as  Saints  of  God,  and  turn  them. 

Now  who,  in  spite  of  Fashion's  peal 
Will  dare  draw  music  from  the  wheel, 
Or  regulate  the  kitchen,  when 
Cornelia  stops,  to  wield  the  pen? 


POEMS.  181 


TEMPLE  SONG. 

Written  for  the  Dedication  of  the  Temple  in  St.  George, 
April  6,  1877. 


Hark,  hark!  angelic  minstrels  sing 

A  sweet,  melodious  strain; 
Heav'n's  high,  celestial  arches  ring 

With  joyful  news  again. 
Lo!  now  another  key  is  turned: 

'Tis  God's  divine  behest; 
And  those  for  whom  our  hearts  have  yearn'd, 

Our  dead,  again  are  blest. 

Chorus: 

From  the  valleys  of  Ephraim  hosannas  arise, 
And  new  hallelujahs  descend  from  the  skies; 
Glad  shouts  of  redemption  from  bondage  resound, 
From  the  shades  where  the  spirits  in  prison  are  bound. 

In  eighteen  hundred  seventy-seven, 

Let  holy  records  tell, 
A  Temple's  finished— bolts  are  riven 

In  twain  where  spirits  dwell. 
We've  been  baptiz'd  for  them,  and  now, 

As  agents,  in  their  stead, 


182  POEMS. 


We're  wash'd  and  we're  anointed  too— 
The  living  for  the  dead. 

Chorus— From  the  valleys,  etc. 

Within  a  Temple's  sacred  court, 

Beneath  its  royal  tower, 
Let  humble,  faithful  Saints  resort 

To  wield  salvation's  power. 
Salvation's  work!    O,  glorious  theme! 

Too  high  for  mortal  tongues; 
Seraphic  hosts  its  grace  proclaim 

In  everlasting  songs. 

Chorus — From  the  valleys,  etc. 

A  great,  momentous  time's  at  hand; 

Portending  signs  appear; 
The  wise  will  see  and  understand 

The  day  of  God  is  near. 
Ye  heav'nly  gates,  no  more  ajar — 

Henceforth  stand  open  wide; 
The  Bridegroom's  voice  is  heard  afar, 

Prepare,  prepare  the  Bride. 

Chorus — From  the  valleys,  etc. 


POEMS.  183 


RETIREMENT. 


I  love  retirement.     To  my  spirit  'tis 

Like  honey-comb,  stor'd  full  with  gathered  sweet 

Nicely  extracted  from  the  summer  flow'rs. 

'Tis  a  palladium,  within  its  courts, 
That  jewel  of  refined  society, 
The  female  character,  well  fashioned  in 
The  mould  of  virtue,  is  most  beautiful. 

There  may  reflection  take  an  easy  chair, 
And  bathe  the  nettled  brow  of  public  life. 

I  never  lov'd  those  scenes  of  gayety, 
Where  happiness  is  but  a  hollow  sound 
Of  shining  vanity  and  splendid  mirth — 
Where  friendship  is  diluted  in  a  stream 
Of  empty  compliments,  until  its  form 
And  nature  disappear — where  common  sense 
Becomes  a  tributary  sacrifice 
Upon  the  shrine  of  fashion,  leaving  thought 
In  highly  rarified  and  gaseous  form. 

Give  me  the  happy  medium  between 
The  world's  gay  scenes,  and  dark,  brown  solitude: 
Beneath  the  weight  of  which,  the  mind  would  lose 
Its  native  elasticity,  and  would 


184  POEMS. 

Become  absorbed,  and  thus  identify 

With  the  dense  mass  of  matter,  lying  round. 

Pure  social  life,  the  holiest  gem  which  heav'n 
Confer'd  upon  this  desert  world— the  bright 
Oasis  of  our  earthly  pilgrimage— 
The  pearl  that  decorates  the  courts  above; 
Finds  in  retirement's  treat,  it's  richest  zest. 


REFLECTIONS. 


'Twas  in  the  house  of  mourning.    Friends  had  met 
To  weep  with  those  that  wept,  and  pay  the  last 
Sad  tribute  of  affectionate  respect 
To  lovely  sleeping  innocence—faded, 
Yet  beautiful:    For  Death,  in  eagerness 
To  show  his  own  dexterity,  without 
Co-operation  in  their  mutual  art 
Of  fell  destruction,  imperceptibly, 
Had  stolen  the  march  of  his  old  colleague,  Time. 

Death  is  not  mov'd,  e'en  by  the  eloquence 
Of  tears,  else  had  Orlando's  sleep  been  short; 
For  many  tears  were  shed:    And  when  I  thought 
Of  his  small  portion  of  the  day  of  life, 


POEMS.  185 


And  how  his  sparkling  eyes  were  closed  upon 
Those  blissful  scenes,  most  fascinatingly 
Exposed  to  view,  in  the  prospective  page 
Of  life's  forthcoming  drama— torn  away 
From  friendship's  carol— love's  caressing  smile, 
And  hope's  bright,  fascinating,  beautiful 
Portray,  and  every  sunny  thing  of  earth 
That  makes  us  cling  to  life;  I  felt  my  own 
Eye  moisten  with  a  voluntary  tear. 

There  is  reproof  in  silence:    This  I  felt: 
For  then  my  reckless  gaze  perchanced  to  rest 
On  the  fixed  countenance  of  the  pale  corse. 
It  met  my  glances  most  rebukingly, 
And  seemed  to  say,  Can  kind  hearts  sadden  when 
A  royal  jewel  leaves  the  casket  of 
Frail,  perishable  clay,  and  stainless  goes 
To  heav'n,  and  in  the  holy  presence  of 
Its  God,  is  decorously  laid  upon 
An  angel's  bosom? 

Should  affection's  eye 
Weep  o'er  the  spirit's  early  exit  from 
This  fallen  sphere — this  world  of  hopes  and  fears, 
When,  freed  from  dull  mortality,  it  flies 
Back  to  its  native  clime,  and  moves  again 
In  scenes  of  high  intelligence,  un marred 
By  any  of  the  ills  of  mortal  life? 

I  fqlt  my  heart  reproved,  and  hush'd  my  grief, 
And  yet  not  all:     I  sorrow 'd  for  the  friends 
Who  mourned  their  darling  boy.    For  them  I  shed 
The  tear  of  un  dissembled  sympathy. 


17 


186  POEMS. 


A  WINTER  SOLILOQUY. 


I  hear— I  see  its  tread  as  Winter  comes— 
Clad  in  white  robes,  how  terribly  august! 
Its  voice  spreads  terror — ev'ry  step  is  inark'd 
With  devastation !    Nature  in  affright, 
Languid  and  lifeless,  sinks  before  the  blast. 

Should  nature  mourn?    No:  gentle  Spring,  ere  long, 
Will  reascend  the  desolated  throne : 
Her  animating  voice  will  rouse  from  death, 
Emerging  from  its  chains,  more  beauteous  far, 
The  world  of  variegated  Nature. 

Not  so  with  man — Rais'd  from  the  lowly  dust, 
He  blooms  awhile;  but  when  he  fades,  he  sets 
To  rise  no  more — on  earth  no  more  to  bloom! 
Swift  is  his  course  and  sudden  his  decline! 
Behold,  to-day,  his  pulse  beat  high  with  hope — 
His  arms  extended  for  the  eager  grasp 
Of  pleasure's  phantom,  fancy's  golden  ken 
Paints  in  a  gilded  image  on  his  heart. 
Behold,  to-morrow  where?    Ah!  who  can  tell? 
Ye  slumb'ring  tenants,  will  not  you  reply? 
No:  from  his  bow,  death  has  a  quiver  sent, 
And  seal'd  your  senses  in  a  torpid  sleep. 


POEMS.  187 


Then  who  can  tell?    The  living  know  him  not: 
Altho'  perhaps,  a  friend  or  two,  may  drop 
A  tear,  and  say  he's  gone — she  is  no  more! 

Hark!  from  on  high  a  glorious  sound  is  heard, 
Rife  with  rich  music  in  eternal  strains. 
The  op'ning  heavens,  by  revelation's  voice 
Proclaim  the  key  of  knowledge  unto  man. 

A  Savior  comes — He  breaks  the  icy  chain ; 
And  man,  resuscitated  from  the  grave, 
Awakes  to  life  and  immortality, 
To  be  himself — more  perfectly  himself, 
Than  e'er  he  bloom'd  in  the  primeval  state 
Of  his  existence  in  this  wintry  world. 


MY  EPITAPH. 


'Tis  not  the  tribute  of  a  sigh 

From  sorrow's  bleeding  bosom  drawn; 
Nor  tears  that  now  from  pity's  eye, 

To  weep  for  me  when  I  am  gone; 

No  costly  balm,  no  rich  perfume, 
No  vain  sepulchral  rite  I  claim; 


188  POEMS. 


No  mournful  knell,  no  marble  tomb, 
Nor  sculptur'd  stone  to  tell  my  name. 

It  is  a  holier  tithe  I  crave 

Than  time-proof,  monumental  piers, 
Than  roses  planted  on  my  grave, 

Or  willows  drip'd  in  dewy  tears. 

The  garlands  of  hypocrisy 

May  be  equip 'd  with  many  a  gem; 
I  prize  the  heart's  sincerity 

Before  a  princely  diadem. 

In  friendship's  memory  let  me  live, 
I  know  no  earthly  wish  beside; 

I  ask  no  more;  yet,  oh,  forgive 
This  impulse  of  instinctive  pride. 

The  silent  pulse  of  memory, 
That  beats  to  the  unutter'd  tone 

Of  tenderness,  is  more  to  me 
Than  the  insignia  of  a  stone: 

For  friendship  holds  a  secret  cord, 
That  with  the  fibres  of  my  heart, 

Entwines  so  deep,  so  close,  'tis  hard 
For  death's  dissecting  hand  to  part. 

I  feel  the  low  responses  roll, 

Like  distant  echoes  of  the  night, 
And  whisper,  softly  through  my  soul, 
*  "I  would  not  be  forgotten  quite." 


poems.  189 


OUR  NATION. 

Tune — "  Bingen  on  the  Rhine." 


How  came  this  mighty  nation? 

From  whence  the  germ  of  pow'r? 
It  first  appeared  on  "Plymouth  Rock"- 

It  came  from  Europe's  shore: 
Emerging  from  its  weakness, 

And  from  th'  oppressor's  hand, 
It  pluck'd  the  brightest  laurel  wreath, 

And  claim 'd  the  happiest  land. 
It  grew  in  might  and  majesty — 

In  greatness,  wealth,  and  skill; 
And  held  its  future  destiny 

Subservient  to  its  will: 
Kingdoms  and  empires,  one  by  one, 

Come  bending  to  its  shrine, 
While  gems  of  art  and  genius 

In  blending  beauty  shine. 
Beauty,  beauty, 

In  blending  beauty  shine. 

A  change  came  o'er  the  nation 
That  once  was  brave  and  free. 


190  POEMS. 

That  boasted  of  its  patriotism — 

Its  peace  and  liberty: 
Whose  broad  sails  kissed  the  ocean  breeze- 

Whose  steamers  plow'd  the  deep — 
Whose  glory  lighted  distant  seas — 

Whose  prowess  scal'd  the  steep — 
Whose  sons,  in  war,  were  valiant — 

In  peace,  like  pillars  stood 
To  guard  the  post  of  human  right — 

To  bless  and  shield  the  good. 
Its  banner,  every  country  hail'd, 

And  called  th'  oppress'd  to  come: 
And  where  protection  triumph'd, 

Enjoy  a  peaceful  home. 

Peaceful,  peaceful, 

Enjoy  a  peaceful  home. 

Alas!  alas!  our  nation 

Has  fallen — O  how  changed! 
From  justice,  truth  and  liberty 

How  fearfully  estranged! 
Its  honor  has  departed, 

Its  beauty  is  despoiled, 
Its  soaring  Eagle  chas'd  away, 

Its  banner  is  defiled! 
The  light  of  freedom  has  gone  down, 

The  son  of  peace  has  fled; 
And  war's  fell  demon  marches  on, 

With  fierce  and  haughty  tread! 
The  holy  ties  of  brotherhood, 

Lie  desecrated  now— 


POEMS.  191 

'Round  freedom's  blood-bathed  altar, 
Vile  sons  of  mammon  bow. 

Mammon,  mammon, 
Vile  sons  of  mammon  bow. 

The  peace  that  fled  our  nation 

Has  won  a  coronet, 
In  its  only  earthly  refuge 

In  the  land  of  Deseret. 
Amid  the  Rocky  Mountains 

A  Phcenix  has  appeared, 
An  ensign  has  been  lifted  up, 

A  standard  has  been  rear'd, 
By  men,  who,  with  the  help  of  God, 

A  cruel  bondage  broke, 
And  saved  a  loyal  people  from 

A  base,  fraternal  yoke. 
The  crown  of  freedom  now  is  placed 

Where  freedom's  crown  should  be: 
And  the  noblest  hearts  are  shouting 

God,  Truth  and  Liberty. 

Shouting,  Shouting, 

God,  Truth  and  Liberty. 

Salt  Lake  City,  October,  1862. 


192  POEMS. 


TO,  SHE  KNOWS  WHO. 


Dear  Lady — My  Sister:    I  fain  would  express 
A  wish  for  your  welfare— a  wish  that  will  bless. 
'Twere  not  well  if  your  life  were  a  pathway  of  ease, 
In  which  all  that  transpires  is  conspiring  to  please — 
A  life  where  no  clouds  and  no  shadows  shall  come, 
Where  all  is  bright  sunshine,   sweet  fragrance  and 

bloom; 
A  life  without  object,  care,  use  or  design — 
A  life  with  no  furnace,  the  gold  to  refine. 
Be  assured,  my  dear  lady,  far  better  your  life 
Be  with  sorrow  and  trying  perplexities  rife; 
That  the  gifts  you're  endow 'd  with  thro'  experience 

grow, 
And  your  power  of  endurance  by  tests  you  may  show. 
It  is  needful  to  taste  of  the  good  and  the  ill, 
To  prepare  high  positions  with  honor  to  fill. 
In  proportion  to  labors,  rewards  will  be  given. 
May  you  earn  in  earth's  workshop  a  fulness  in  heaven. 

May  you  don  all  the  armor  the  Gospel  requires, 
And  invest  all  the  energies  wisdom  inspires. 
In  the  course  you're  pursuing,  be  certain  you're  right, 
Then,  whate'er  may  oppose,  neither  shun  nor  invite. 


POEMS.  193 


Unstinted  by  sloth  and  unclogg'd  by  abuse, 

May  your  faculties  strengthen  by  practical  use. 

May  your  usefulness  grow,  and  your  labors,  though 

great, 
Increase  year  by  year  in  responsible  weight. 
To  humanity's  interests  ever  awake, 
Be  firm  in  Truth's  conflict  for  righteousness'  sake. 

There  is  much  to  replenish,  and  much  to  subdue, 
Which  requires  deep  reflection  and  vigilance,  too. 
The  relief  of  the  poor  claims  the  heart  and  the  hand; 
While  retrenchment  reforms,  great  exertions  demand. 

Arouse  every  effort  those  ills  to  remove, 
Which  sap  the  foundation  of  union  and  love; 
Which  thro'  worldly  ambition  and  selfishness  grow, 
And  pander  to  vain  ostentation  and  show. 
Set  your  face  as  a  flint,  else  ambition  and  pride 
Will  your  precept  and  practice  ignobly  divide. 

May  the  rich  consolations  the  Gospel  bestows, 
Under  every  bereavement,  your  sorrows  compose. 
May  your  name  in  all  future,  in  honor  be  known 
For  your  noble  example— for  the  good  you  have  done, 
That  your  peace,  as  a  river,  may  constantly  flow, 
Is  the  wish  of  your  sister  and  friend, 

Salt  Lake  City,  March  17,  1871. 


18 


194  POEMS. 


TO  MRS. 


Dear  Lady: 

Pleasure  sat  gently  smiling  when 
I  read  th'  effusion  of  your  pen. 

Thought  wakens  thought:  a  thought  express 'd 
Called  your  thoughts  forth,  with  which  I'm  blest. 

One  gem  of  mind,  I  value  more 
Than  glittering  piles  from  mammon's  store. 

We  find  a  radius  in  the  soul, 
Illumined  by  th'  eternal  pole, 
And  thro'  the  heart's  deep  sympathy, 
We  taste  of  immortality. 

The  blessed  prescience  God  has  given 
Of  immortality  and  heaven, 
Sweetens  and  creams  life's  flowing  cup, 
And  swallows  all  the  bitter  up. 

All  pain  and  grief  to  pleasure  tend— 
Each  human  suff'ring  has  an  end: 
Each  yoke  will  burst—each  bondage  break — 
Each  wounded  heart  will  cease  to  ache: 
All  clouds  will  scatter— storms  will  cease- 
All  warfare  terminate  in  peace — 
All  swellings  of  the  waves,  be  o'er— 
There  is  no  sea  without  a  shore,    . 


POEMS.  195 


That  restless  thing,  anxiety, 
The  finely  masked  disloyalty, 
Is  but  the  lack  of  confidence 
In  God,  our  strength  and  our  defence. 

Compared  with  past  life — life  before, 
What  is  this  present?    'Tis  no  more 
Than  a  mere  point— a  little  dot, 
(God  grant  it  may  not  prove  a  blot.) 
A  life  of  toil,  of  care  and  pain, 
Where  weakness,  pride  and  ign'rance  reign. 
But  'tis  as  God  ordained  to  be, 
And  He  well  knows  what's  good  for  me; 
And  all  I  have  to  fear,  or  do, 
Is  to  obediently  pursue 
His  Priesthood  leadings,  and  obey 
His  providences  day  by  day: 
And  thus,  whatever  Father  gives, 
His  daughter  thankfully  receives. 
And  when  I'm  all  in  all  resigned — 
In  very  heart  as  well  as  mind, 
I'm  filled  with  light — I've  eyes  to  see 
His  kind  parental  love  for  me: 
To  His  requirements,  constant  yes, 
Produces  constant  happiness; 
And  this,  the  germ  of  perfect  peace, 
If  cherished,  daily  will  increase. 

To  me,  it  matters  little  now, 
To  where  I  rise — to  what  I  bow; 
Or  toil  or  ease,  I  little  care 
If  Father's  smiles  I  freely  share; 


196  POEMS. 

And  when  th'  interior  all  is  right, 
I  have  no  outward  foes  to  fight. 
I  war  for  Zion — not  for  me: 
I've  signed  a  gen'ral  amnesty 
To  all  injustice,  strife  and  hate, 
Which,  to  my  single  self,  relate: 
Th'  intenti'al  evil-doer  will, 
Sooner  or  later,  foot  the  bill. 
Then  need  we  trouble?    Surely,  no; 
Nor  stoop  to  fight  an  outward  foe. 

I  glimpse  at  data  far  behind 
What  now  is  tangible  to  mind. 
Ah!  there's  a  something  comes  to  me, 
Like  figures  wrought  in  filligree: 
A  something  old— both  old  and  new, 
And  yet,  inviolably  true. 
Thought  bursts  the  bound  of  this  low  earth- 
On  past-life's  ocean  launches  forth, 
And  traces  our  existence,  ere 
The  Gods  had  formed  this  nether  sphere. 

But  now  I'm  but  a  child  of  dust; 
Thanks,  thanks  to  Him,  in  whom  I  trust, 
I'm  not  without  his  wise  direction, 
His  smiles,  his  guidance  and  protection. 

Adam,  our  father— Eve,  our  mother, 
And  Jesus  Christ,  our  elder  brother, 
Are  to  my  understanding  shown : 
My  heart  responds,  they  are  my  own. 


POEMS.  197 


Perfection  lifts  them  far  from  me, 

But  what  they  are,  we  yet  may  be, 

If  we,  tho'  slowly,  follow  on, 

We'll  reach  the  point  to  which  they've  gone. 

Then,  Sister,  what— O,  what  this  life— 
Our  Edens  and  our  Goshens,  rife 
With  all  the  fatness,  and  the  most 
Of  excellence  that  mortals  boast, 
Contrasted  with  eternal  blessings, 
When  Earth  renew'd,  and  worth  possessing, 
Is  in  celestial  beauty  drest, 
And  crowned  with  everlasting  rest? 
There  heart  with  heart  and  mind  with  mind, 
In  bonds  eternal  are  entwin'd. 

I  know  how  bitter  portions  taste, 
They're  med'cines  given,  but  not  to  waste. 
Sweet  sweeter  seems  when  bitter's  past; 
Thus  health  will  be  secured  at  last. 

Fear  not,  my  Sister:  God  is  just, 
He'll  succor  those  who  firmly  trust 
His  justice  and  His  mercy  too, 
His  grace  sufficient  is,  for  you. 

How  blest  to  be  on  Zion's  ship! 

All  safe  at  helm,  she'll  make  the  trip 

With  all  aboard — a  mighty  host, 

She'll  clear  the  swells  and  reach  the  coast. 

Unwisely  and  untimely  sought, 
With  evil,  blessings  may  be  fraught; 


198  POEMS. 


But  in  God's  chosen  time  to  give, 
All  things,  are  blessings,  we  receive. 
Training  the  mind  to  circumstances 
Our  pow'r  of  happiness  enhances. 

'Tis  not  when  seas  and  waves  are  still, 
That  mariners  improve  their  skill, 
"We  suffer  to  progress :"    'Tis  so, 
'Neath  mighty  pressures,  spirits  grow. 

But  O,  that  glorious  day  of  rest, 
With  sweet  associations  blest! 
With  gratitude  my  feelings  swell 
That  I'm  of  favored  Israel. 
My  heart  is  full — too  full  to  write- 
Dear  Madam,  Sister,  Friend,  good  night. 


POEMS.  199 


TO  MRS.  HARRIET  GRAY. 

[In  July,  1874,  Mrs.  Harriet  Gray,  of  Peterboro',  N. 
H.,  82  years  of  age,  paid  a  visit  to  Salt  Lake  City,  Utah. 
On  the  morning  of  her  departure  from.  "Zion,"  a  mes- 
senger handed  her  the  following  lines  from  the  pen  of 
the  "Mormon  Poetess, "  which  we  publish  at  the  re- 
quest of  many  friends.— Ed.  of  the  Peterboro '  (N.  H. 
Transcript.] 


Fare  you  well,  beloved  mother; — 
While  your  homeward  way  you  wend, 

God,  our  Father,  will  protect  you 
Safe  from  dangers  that  impend. 

Fare  you  well,  much  honored  lady, 
Go  in  peace  and  be  you  blest; 

In  the  far  off  East  remember 
Those  who  loved  you  in  the  West. 

In  the  valleys  of  the  mountains, 
Hearts  to  God  and  country  true, 

Will,  in  holiest  bonds  of  friendship 
Known  on  earth,  remember  you. 

When  you've  filled  your  eaithly  mission, 
And  resign  your  "dust  to  dust," 

You  will  have  "abundant  entrance 
Into  mansions  of  the  just." 

Salt  Lake  City,  Aug.  1,  1874. 


200  POEMS. 


TO  A  PHILANTHROPIST. 


Most  honor' d  Sir:  I'd  fain  address  my  pen 
To  you,  a  lover  of  your  fellow  men, 
I'll  dare  presume — I  crave  your  pardon,  sir, 
If,  thus  presuming,  I  presume  to  err. 

You  plead  the  rights  of  man;  you  fain  would  see 

All  men  enjoy  the  sweets  of  Liberty. 

Goodness  is  greatness,  knowledge— power;  and  thou 

The  best  and  wisest  of  your  nation  now: 

And  while  the  nation  sinks  beneath  its  blight, 

You,  like  a  constellation,  cheer  the  night. 

If  you  can  quell  the  raging  ocean's  wave, 
You  may,  perhaps,  your  fallen  country  save; 
If  you  can  cleanse  corruption's  growing  stream, 
Hope  on— your  nation's  honor  to  redeem — 
Give  back  our  martyr 'd  Prophet's  life  again, 
And  from  th'  escutcheon  wipe  that  dreadful  stain. 

Your  civil  pow'rs,  your  officers  of  State, 
On  Freedom's  shoulders  throw  a  crushing  weight; 
With  suicidal  acts,  they've  trampled  down 
Our  Charter'd  Rights,  and  God  Almighty's  frown 


POEMS.  201 

Is  resting  on  them;  and  the  bitter  cup 
They've  dealt,  they'll  drink,  they'll  use  each  other  up. 
Though  for  a  while,  you  may  avert  the  blow, 
The  deed  is  done  which  seals  their  overthrow; 
The  pois'nous  canker-worm  is  gnawing  where 
No  skill — no  med'cine  can  the  breach  repair. 

What  have  they  done?    O  blush,  humanity! 
What  are  they  doing?    All  the  world  can  see. 

Where  is  the  Banner  which  your  nation  boasts? 
Say,  is  it  waving  o'er  her  warring  hosts? 
Where  are  the  Statesmen  who  have  never  swerv'd? 
And  where  the  Constitution's  Rights  preserved? 

Here,  in  the  mountains,  'neath  the  western  sky, 
Columbia's  Banner  proudly  waves  on  high; 
And  here  are  men  with  souls — men  just  and  true — 
Men  worthy  of  our  noble  sires  and  you  : 
They  have  preserv'd  our  sacred  Constitution 
'Midst  fearful  odds  and  cruel  persecution. 

Your  noble,  gen'rous  heart,  with  pure  intent, 
Would  screen  the  guilty  from  just  punishment. 
But  God  is  at  the  helm — the  Almighty  rules, 
He,  in  whose  hand  the  nations  are  but  tools, 
His  kingdom  Daniel  said  would  be  "set  up;" 
'Tis  here;  'twill  swallow  other  kingdoms  up. 
The  seeds  of  wickedness,  the  nations  grow 
Within  themselves,  will  work  their  overthrow; 
Though,  for  a  season,  mercy  stays  its  hand, 
Justice  will  have  its  own— its  full  demand. 


202  POEMS. 


We've  sued  for  peace,  and  for  our  Rights,  in  vain; 
Again,  we've  sought  for  justice;  and  again, 
We've  claini'd  protection  'neath  that  lofty  spire 
Your  country  boasts — 'twas  planted  by  our  sires. 

But  now  we  ask  no  odds  at  human  hand — 
In  God  Almighty's  strength,  alone,  we  stand. 
Honor  and  Justice,  Truth  and  Liberty 
Are  ours:  we're  freemen,  and  henceforth  we're  free. 


THE  LADIES  OF  UTAH, 

To  the  Ladies  of  the  Tfnited  States  Camp  in  a  Crusade 
against  the  "Mormons." 


Why  are  you  in  these  mountains, 
Expos'd  to  frosts  and  snows, 

Far  from  your  shelt'ring  houses— 
From  comfort  and  repose? 

Has  cruel  persecution, 

With  unrelenting  hand, 
Thrust  you  from  home  and  kindred 

And  from  your  native  land? 

Have  you  been  mob'd  and  plunder'd 
Till  you  are  penniless, 


POEMS.  203 


And  then  in  destitution 
Driven  to  the  wilderness? 

No,  no;  you've  join'd  a  crusade 
Against  the  peace  of  those 

Driv'n  to  these  distant  valleys 
By  cruel  murd'rous  foes. 

Amid  the  dreary  desert, 

Where  hideous  redmen  roam — 
Where  beasts  of  prey  were  howling, 

We've  made  ourselves  a  home. 

We  never  had  intruded 
As  you  would  now  intrude; 

We've  never  sought  to  injure — 
We've  sought  for  others'  good. 

We  came  through  sore  compulsion, 
And  not  from  wicked  choice; 

We  had,  in  all  our  sorrow, 
Heaven's  sweet  consoling  voice. 

Can  woman's  heart  be  callous 
And  made  of  flint  or  steel? 

Perhaps  you'll  learn  to  pity, 
When  you  are  made  to  feel. 

Should  sickness  prey  upon  you 
And  children  cry  for  bread, 

With  bitter  self  reproaches 
You'll  rue  the  path  you  tread. 


204  POEMS. 

We're  forin'd  of  blood  and  sinews 
And  flesh,  as  well  as  you; 

And  we  have  hearts  composed  of 
As  many  fibres  too. 

We  love  with  purer  feelings 
Our  husbands,  children,  friends; 

We've  learn 'd  to  prize  the  blessings 
Which  God  in  mercy  sends. 

We  have  the  ancient  order 
To  us  by  prophets  given, 

And  here  we  have  the  pattern 
As  it  exists  in  heav'n. 

We're  well  prepar'd  to  teach  you, 
And  that  you  may  discern, 

We  simply  here  remind  you, 
You've  just  commenced  to  learn. 

We'd  fain  from  human  suff'ring 
Each  barbed  arrow  draw; 

But  yet  self-preservation 
Is  God's  and  nature's  law. 

The  Scriptures  are  fulfilling — 
The  spoiler's  being  spoiled; 

All  satan's  foul  devices 
'Gainst  Zion  will  be  foil'd. 

G.  S.  L.  City,  Oct.  13,  1857. 


POEMS.  205 


CROSSING  THE  ATLANTIC. 


We're  on  the  Minnesota, 
A  ship  of  "  Guion  Line," 

Which  boasts  her  Captain  Morgan, 
The  gen'rous,  staunch  and  kind. 

Amid  the  heaving  waters 
That  form  the  liquid  plain; 

With  four  and  twenty  draft  feet 
The  steamer  ploughs  the  main. 

I'm  gazing  on  the  ocean 

As  on  the  deck  I  stand, 
And  feel  the  cooling  breezes 

With  which  the  sails  are  fanned. 

By  sunlight,  star  and  moonlight, 
And  tranquil  evening  shade, 

The  ever- varying  features 
Of  ocean  I've  surveyed. 

At  times  with  restless  motion, 
As  if  her  spirit  grieves — 

As  tho'  her  breast  were  paining, 
Her  mighty  bosom  heaves. 


206  POEMS. 

And  then,  vast  undulations, 
Like  the  rolling  prairies  spread; 

With  wave  on  wave  dissolving, 
With  tumbling,  dashing  tread. 

Upon  the  deep,  dark  billows, 
Broad,  foaming  white  caps  rise, 

And  sprays  in  dazzling  beauty, 
Shoot  upward  to  the  skies. 

'Tis  now  a  plain,  smooth  surface, 

As  tho'  in  cozy  sleep 
Were  wrapped  each  wave  and  billow 

Upon  the  briny  deep. 

But  hark!    The  Captain  orders 

The  furling  ev'ry  sail; 
Storm-clouds  and  head- winds  rising 

Portend  a  coming  gale. 

Anon  all  Neptune's  furies 
Are  on  the  steamer's  path; 

We  mount  the  deck  to  witness 
The  ocean  in  its  wrath. 

The  scene!    What  pen  can  write  it? 

What  pencil's  art  could  show 
The  wild,  terrific  grandeur 

Which  reigns  around  us  now? 

The  waving,  surging  waters, 
Like  battle-armor  clash; 

Tumultuous  waves  upheaving 
With  foaming  fury  dash. 


POEMS.  201 


The  steamer  mounts  the  billows, 
Then  dips  the  space  below; 

And  bravely  presses  onward, 
Tho'  reeling  to  and  fro. 

We're  sailing  on  the  ocean 
With  wind  and  sail  and  steam; 

Where  views  of  "  terra  firma" 
Are  like  the  poet's  dream. 

The  God  who  made  the  waters — 
Who  made  the  solid  land, 

Is  ours — our  Great  Protector, 
Our  life  is  in  His  hands. 

Subservient  to  His  counsel — 
Confiding  in  His  care — 

Directed  by  His  wisdom, 
There's  safety  everywhere. 


LONDON. 


Far,  far  away  from  our  dear  native  land, 
In  England's  great  metropolis  we  stand; 
Where  art  and  skill — labor  and  wealth  combine 
With  time's  co-operation  in  design 


208  POEMS. 


Of  superstructure's  bold  and  beauteous  form, 
With  all  varieties  of  strength  and  charm. 

Here  massive  columns — stately  towers,  arise, 
And  lift  their  spires  in  greetings  to  the  skies: 
Fine  parks  and  gardens,  palaces  and  halls, 
With  sculptured  niches — frescoe-painted  walls; 
Where  no  expense  is  spared  to  beautify, 
Nor  time,  nor  toil,  to  captivate  the  eye. 
We  saw,  and  viewing,  courteously  admired 
The  master  strokes  by  Genius'  hand  inspired. 

To  "New  Westminster  Palace  "  we  resort, 
Where  the  Chief  Justice  holds  his  august  court; 
'Twas  then  in  session,  and  the  Exchequer  too— 
In  wig  and  gown— a  grand,  imposing  view! 
The  House  of  Lords  and  Commons  too,  we  saw, 
But  not  those  grave  expounders  of  the  law. 

With  deferential  thought  we  fixed  our  gaze, 
There,  in  the  "  Prince's  Hall,"  where  face  to  face 
On  either  side,  on  carved  projections  stood, 
With  features  varied  as  in  life's  warm  blood, 
White  marble  statues,  from  the  sculptor's  hand, 
Of  British  Statesmen,  men  who  could  command 
The  power  of  eloquence— the  force  of  mind, 
A  mighty  nation's  destinies  to  bind— 
Chatham,  Pitt,  Granville,  Walpole,  Fox,  beside 
Other's  who're  justly  England's  boast  and  pride. 

We  visited  the  u Abbey,"  where  repose  in  state 
The  effigies  of  many  good  and  great, 


POEMS.  209 


With  some  whose  deeds  are  well  deserving  hate. 
Group'd  in  the  "  Poets'  Corner,"  here,  we  found, 
With  rich,  artistic  sculpture  trophies  crown'd, 
The  mem'ries  of  the  Muse's  world-renowned. 
In  some  compartments  where  old  massive  stones 
Comprise  the  flooring,  lie  their  mouldering  bones, 
And  we  with  reverential  footsteps  tread 
Above  the  ashes  of  the  illustrious  dead. 

Great  London  City,  mart  of  wealth  and  power, 

Home  for  the  wealthy — charnel  for  the  poor! 

And  here,  amid  its  boasted  pomp  and  pride, 

Some  faithful  Soldiers  of  the  Cross  reside — 

A  few  choice  spirits,  whom  the  watchman's  care, 

By  humble  search,  found  scatter' d  here  and  there, 

"  Like  angels'  visits,  few  and  far  between," 

As  patient  gardeners  sep'rate  clusters  glean. 

They  barter  earth 's  allurements  and  device 

To  gain  the  "  Pearl "  of  great  and  matchless  price, 

And  what  to  them  the  honors,  pride  and  show, 

That  perish  with  their  using,  here  below? 

Their  hopes  are  high — their  noble  aims  extend 

Where  life  and  peace  and  progress  never  end; 

Where  God's  own  Kingdom  Time's  last  knell  survives, 

Crowned  with  the  gifts  and  powers  of  endless  lives. 


19 


210  POEMS. 


APOSTROPHE  TO  JERUSALEM. 


Thou  City  with  a  cherished  name, 

A  name  in  garlands  drest, 
Adorned  with  ancient  sacred  fame, 

As  city  of  the  blest. 
Thy  rulers  once  were  mighty  men, 

Thy  sons,  renowned  in  war: 
Thy  smiles  were  sought  and  courted  then 

By  people  from  afar. 

A  holy  Temple,  built  as  God 

Directed  it  should  be, 
In  which  His  glory  shone  abroad, 

With  heavenly  majesty; 
Was  great  adornment  to  thy  place, 

And  lustre  to  thy  name; 
With  much  of  grandeur,  wealth  and  grace, 

To  magnify  thy  fame. 

The  Lord  was  with  thee  then,  and  deigned, 

In  speech  well  understood, 
Thro'  prophets,  by  His  wisdom  trained, 

To  counsel  for  thy  good. 
Attracted  by  illustrious  fame, 

As  by  a  ruling  star, 
To  study  wisdom,  people  came 

From  other  climes  afar. 


POEMS.  211 


Thine  then,  a  chosen,  favored  land, 

Was  crown'd  with  plenty's  smile; 
The  mountains  dropped  down  fatness,  and 

The  hillsides  wine  and  oil. 
And  thou  wert  like  a  golden  gem 

Upon  a  nation's  brow. 
Jerusalem,  Jerusalem, 

Alas!    What  art  thou  now? 

Degraded,  and  on  every  hand, 

From  wisdom  all  estranged; 
Thy  glory  has  departed,  and 

All,  but  thy  name,  is  changed! 
From  God  withdrawn — by  him  forsook— 

To  all  intents  depraved; 
Beneath  the  Turkish  iron  yoke, 

Thou  long  hast  been  enslaved. 

Divested  of  all  heavenly  rites, 

Thy  crest  has  fallen  low; 
Around  thy  walls  are  squalid  sights 

Of  beggary  and  woe; 
Thy  streets  are  narrow,  filthy  lanes — 

Offensive  to  the  breath ; 
Thy  pools  appear  like  sewer  drains, 

That  breed  disease  and  death. 


No  Temple  now,  that  God  designed- 
No  church  by  him  approved — 

No  prophet  to  reveal  His  mind, 
By  inspiration  moved; 


212  POEMS. 

Where  once,  a  royal  banner  spread, 
The  "  Crescent,"  waving  now: 

A  sable  wreath  is  on  thy  head, 
And  blood  upon  thy  brow. 

The  curse  of  God  those  changes  wrought, 

Through  crimes  the  Jews  have  done, 
When  they  his  counsels  set  at  naught 

And  crucified  His  Son. 
Since  then,  has  retribution's  hand 

Put  forth  its  fearful  skill, 
Upon  thy  structures  and  thy  land, 

A  destiny  to  fill. 

Thy  children— seed  of  Israel, 
Of  God's  ''peculiar  care," 

On  whom  the  weight  of  judgment  fell- 
Are  scattered  everywhere. 
******        * 

Thy  sun  has  not  forever  set — 
God  has  a  great  design, 

And  will  fulfil  His  purpose  yet, 
Concerning  Palestine. 

Th'  appointed  hour  will  surely  come, 

According  to  His  will, 
For  God,  with  "Faithful  Abraham," 

His  cov'nants  to  fulfil. 
Thyself  redeemed  from  deep  disgrace 

Of  filth  and  negligence, 
These  uncouth  structures  shall  give  place 

To  taste  and  elegance. 


POEMS.  2l£ 


Thy  walls  shall  be  of  precious  stones- 

Thy  gates,  of  richest  pearl; 
And  on  thy  tow 'ring  battlements 

Shall  Sacred  Banners  furl; 
The  seed  of  Jacob  then  shall  dwell 

In  bold  security: 
"  More  than  thy  former  glory,  shall 

Thy  latter  glory  be." 

Palestine,  March  6,  1873. 


PERSONIFICATION  OF  TRUTH,  ERROR,   ETC, 


AN  EPIC  POEM  IN  FIVE  CHAPTERS. 


Should  lofty  Genius  strike  a  feeble  string? 
No:  In  thy  presence,  Truth,  of  Truth  Fll  sing. 


INTRODUCTION  TO  PERSONIFICATION. 

I  love  the  beauties  of  the  vale 
Where  lovely  flowrets  bloom — 

I  love  the  fragrance  of  the  gale 
That  dances  with  perfume. 


214  POEMS. 

I  love  to  watch  the  vap'ry  crowds 
Those  gems  that  mount  the  skies — 

I  love  to  see  the  summer  clouds 
In  mountain  form  arise. 

I  always  love  to  gaze  upon 

The  orb  of  borrowed  light: 
I  love  to  see  the  rising  sun 

Disperse  the  shades  of  night. 

Ye  limpid  lakes — ye  purling  streams— 

Ye  grottos  decked  with  spars— 
Ye  twilight  shades — ye  noon-day  beams, 

And  ye  soft  twinkling  stars; 

I  love  you,  for  your  features  smile 

With  nature's  sinless  charm; 
But  from  your  sphere,  I'll  turn  awhile 

To  nature's  diff' rent  form. 

To  beauteous  landscape,  glen  and  glade, 

I  bid  a  short  farewell; 
To  wander  through  the  mystic  shade 

Where  metaphysics  dwell. 

O'er  mental  fields,  for  once,  I'll  tread, 

Where  feelings  are  combined; 
Where  thoughts  are  trained,  and  passions  bred, 

I'll  trace  the  path  of  Mind. 


POEMS.  215 


CHAPTER  FIRST. 

Contents.— 27ie  parentage  of  Error— Joy  at  his  birth— His 
mother  discovers  his  imbecility— Her  night  visit  to  Suspicion 
—Returns  and  informs  her  husband— They  call  a  Council — 
The  members  of  the  Council— Deceit  makes  a  proposition — Is 
sent  to  Lucifer  for  means— Returns  with  success— His  mea- 
sures are  adopted— The  Council  dissolves— Duplicity's  feint 
for  the  public  benefit,  etc. 

The  chronicles  of  other  times  record 
The  veritable  facts,  that  Prejudice 
And  Ignorance  were  both  betroth'd  at  birth, 
And  that  their  births  were  simultaneous. 

They  early  wedded,  and  their  nuptial  tie, 
With  birth  of  Error,  joyously  was  crowned. 

While  yet  an  infant:  ere  his  tongue  had  learned 
The  childish  prattle,  or  his  puny  hand 
The  potent  grasp,  young  Error's  fame  had  spread 
Thro' out  the  mental  realm;  and  thousands  sang 
In  mellow  strains,  the  praises  of  the  child. 

Long  live  the  parents,  and  long  live  the  son. 
From  tongue  to  tongue,  reverberating  spread, 
And  fill'd  the  acme  of  devoted  hearts. 

A  crowd  promiscuous,  to  the  cradled  child 
Their  willing  def'rence  proffered;  while  those  skilled 
In  astrological  prophetic  lore, 
Predicted  that  in  time  not  far  remote, 
He'd  wear  the  crown — the  royal  sceptre  sway 
And  hold  the  destinies  of  earth  and  heav'n. 


216  POEMS. 

They,  to  immortal  Mars,  his  lineage  traced— 
Extol'd  the  child,  and  blest  the  ruling  stars. 

'Twas  more  than  bliss  (if  wild  enthusiasm 
Can  more  bestow),  the  mother's  bosom  fill'd, 
While  she  officiously  each  real  want, 
And  want  imaginary  too,  supplied. 

Not  so  with  Prejudice:  His  stable  soul, 
Scorning  the  petty  flights  of  frantic  joy, 
On  principle  undeviating,  turned. 

Pleased  with  the  customs  in  his  childhood  taught— 
Calm,  settled  and  dispassionate;  but  yet, 
None  drank  more  deeply  of  the  gen'ral  joy 
Than  Prejudice:  and  what  the  scribes  foretold, 
None  with  intenser  int'rest  heard,  than  he. 
The  prospect  of  his  darling  Error's  fame, 
Like  a  strong  magic,  superhuman  charm, 
On  his  inflexible  corporeal  frame, 
Its  mighty  all  transforming  pow'r  displayed. 

His  nerves  so  much  like  massy  bars  become, 
His  grasp  was  not  unlike  the  grasp  of  death. 
His  meagre  form  invulnerable  grew, 
All  but  his  eyes. 

Time,  with  the  parents,  moved 
With  pace  accelerated,  while  they  watch 'd, 
Caress'd  and  dandled  their  beloved  son. 

But  yet,  since  nature's  doom  is  fixed,  that  pain 
And  pleasure  ever  shall  go  hand  in  hand, 
And  thus,  by  turns,  deal  out  their  measured  draughts, 
Or  sometimes  mingle  in  the  tender 'd  bowl; 


POEMS.  217 


Just  so  anxiety  filled  up  the  space, 
If  space  remained  in  those  fond  parents'  hearts, 
For  Error  could  not  walk  without  the  aid 
Of  both  his  parents  to  support  his  frame. 

Paternal  love,  dame  nature's  kindly  gift 
To  succor  weakness  and  deformity; 
Had  someway — how  or  why,  it  matters  not: 
His  sad  defects  from  curious  gazers,  screen'd, 
But  not  from  all.    Maternal  tenderness, 
That  potent,  most  immutable  of  bonds — 
The  most  undeviating  charm — a  charm 
Which  is  by  circumstances  seldom  warp'd; 
To  fearless  energies  moved  Ignorance'  soul: 
And  getting  softly  up  one  dismal  night — 
Cautious,  lest  she  should  waken  Prejudice, 
She  crept  away  as  slyly  as  the  still 
Low  breath  of  night,  thro'  windings  intricate, 
To  that  dark,  moody  cave,  where  far  and  wide, 
The  famed  Suspicion  bends  his  churlish  bow. 

"Thou'rt  welcome,  matron,"  old  Suspicion  said, 
"Come  in:  but  pray,  now  in  the  depth  of  night, 
What  could  have  brought  you  here?    What  ails  the 

child? 
Then,  looking  thro'  his  old  perspective  tube, 
He  said,  "Ah  now  I  see— Young  Error  is  infirm, 
And  there's  great  danger  too,  not  far  ahead: 
For  in  the  distance  now,  I  see  the  brave 
Young  Truth,  is  gaining  ground— he  now  ascends 
Yon  hill.    Conquest's  insignia,  amply  lie 


20 


218  POEMS. 

Bestrown  around  him;  and  'twill  not  be  strange, 
If  he  the  right  of  empire  shall  dispute, 
At  no  far  distant  day,  with  your  dear  son. 
Was  Error's  strength  half  equal  to  his  size, 
Truth  might  in  vain  attempt  to  thwart  his  pow'r. 
Take  potent  measures  now,  without  delay, 
And  pray  our  guardian  gods  to  bless  the  means: 
Once  get  your  son  enthron'd,  and  danger's  past." 

Poor  Ign'rance,  trembling  like  the  aspen  leaf, 
Arose  and  bade  good  night.     "Excuse  my  haste, 
For  morning  shall  not  put  her  twilight  forth, 
Nor  spread  a  beam,  till  something  is  devis'd 
For  my  decrepid  boy." 

She  clos'd  the  door 
And  that  was  all  of  thought  that  pass'd  her  soul, 
Till  at  her  husband's  bedside  she  called  ouc, 
"My  dear,  awake!"      "Where  hast  thou  been,   my 

love, 
Thou  art  the  soul  of  life  to  me;  and  sleep 
Had  not  sat  sweetly  on  my  dropping  lids, 
Had  I  but  dream'd  that  you  were  far  away. 
Why  so  disturb'd?    Have  evil  spirits  been, 
Like  night's  foul  demons,  robbing  thee  of  rest? 
Thy  throbbing  heart  and  quickly  beating  pulse 
Alarm  me."     "Rise  and  I  will  tell  thee  all," 
Said  Ignorance,  with  a  suppressed  sigh. 
"Last  eve,  as  our  dear  child  between  us  sat, 
And  as  I  gaz'd  upon  his  darling  face— 
His  placid  eye  with  love's  transcendent  glance 


POEMS.  219 


So  fully  fraught;  and  then  his  massy  form, 
Bending  in  mild  submission  low;  bespoke 
At  once  a  soul  so  dutiful — so  meek, 
And  so  affectionate;  my  heart  was  full: 
And  then  I  thought,  though  diligently,  we 
Have  ev'ry  effort  tried  t 'increase  his  strength; 
His  muscles  yet  are  like  the  liquid  stream. 

These  thoughts  compress'd  my  head,  e'en  while 
Upon  the  nightly  pillow  I  reclined: 
I  then  got  stilly  from  thy  side,  and  down 
To  old  Suspicion's  dell,  with  timeless  haste 
I  ran;  that  if  perchance,  he  might  the  means 
Devise  in  our  behalf.    But  happier  far, 
For  me,  if  kind  Suspicion's  dismal  glen 
I  never  chanc'd  to  find,  unless  ere  long, 
The  means — the  antidote  is  found,  that  will 
Give  Error  strength,  and  w^ard  impending  ills. 
I  do  not  speak  of  this  to  grieve  thy  heart: 
Forever  in  my  bosom  should  it  lie 
Conceal'd,  and  save  your  heart  the  bitter  pang. 
'Tis  better,  if  we  can  escape  the  ill, 
To  feel  the  dread.    Suspicion  said  to  me 
That  what  is  done,  cannot  be  done  too  soon  : 
For  there's  one  Truth,  a  bold,  aspiring  lad, 
That  come,  perhaps  from  some  untutor'd  race; 
Is  making  valiant  conquests  just  below 
That  cloud-top'd  hill,  which  forms  the  line  between 
Investigation's  vastly  wide  domains, 
And  the  possessions  of  Stupidity. 
He's  pushing  on  this  way,  a  rapid  march: 


220  POEMS. 


No  doubt  intending  to  obtain  the  crown — 
To  banish  Error,  or  to  stamp  his  name 
With  marks  of  infamy  indelibly." 

Ere  Ignorance  had  clos'd  this  hurried  speech, 
Her  partner,  Prejudice,  had  clad  himself, 
And  seated  in  his  easy  chair — his  arms 
Were  folded  on  his  breast,  and  Ignorance 
Had  knelt  before  him;  when  the  little  blaze, 
That  tremor-like,  above  the  embers  rose; 
Darted  a  ray  across  his  phiz,  and  then 
She  saw  upon  his  check,  the  stranger  tear: 
For  Prejudice  had  never  wept  till  then. 
"My  dear,  it  is  no  time  lor  weeping  now: 
Tears  never  sav'd  a  kingdom— we  must  up 
And  stir  ourselves,  for  'tis  the  gen'ral  wish 
Our  son  should  get  the  crown."    '  'Yes,  yes  my  love," 
Said  Prejudice,  half  rising  from  his  seat— 
"We'll  have  a  Council  call'd,  of  our  best  friends, 
Who  shall  assemble  ere  the  morning  dawns, 
In  some  deep,  private  place,  that  none  may  know 
How  stern  Necessity  inspires  our  haste. 
For  many,  tho'  they  wish  us  well,  and  pray 
For  Error's  welfare;  should  they  know  his  case, 
Would  be  no  better  friends  than  we  should  need." 

Then,  taking  down  his  little  trump,  he  gave 
The  special  call  that  old  Stupidity 
Was  prompt  to  obey:  for  in  his  care  alone 
They  left  the  child  whene'er  they  went  abroad. 

Stupidity  was  their  peculiar  friend — 
They  had  attach 'd  him  to  their  interest 


POEMS.  221 


At  Error's  birth:  and  many  times  he's  sat 
From  one  day's  dawn  until  another's  close, 
Beside  the  fav'rite  child.    And  now,  as  quick 
As  thought  can  move  upon  perception's  glance, 
He  comes,  and  on  his  long-accustom'd  mat; 
Without  a  question,  wherefore?  why?  or  what? 
With  due  composure,  seats  himself.    It  was 
That  quiet,  calm,  indifference  of  soul, 
That  constituted  his  congenial  trait. 

'Twas  midnight.  — Darkness,  thick  as  ever  fell 
On  Lapland's  soil,  scowl'd  sullenly  around, 
When  those  fond  parents  hurried  from  their  home. 

Fell  darkness  was  no  cause  of  dread  to  them — 
And  midnight  but  a  spur  to  urge  them  on. 
Sure,  nothing  will  buoy  up  the  soul  so  long, 
Amid  perplexing  scenes,  as  hope  and  fear; 
And  there's  no  prompter  like  Necessity; 
For  Time  had  barely  pass'd  his  midnight  watch, 
Before  the  chosen  friends  had  got  the  word 
In  urgent  haste,  and  had  assembled  too. 

Choice  ones  they  were,  and  all  of  good  repute — 
The  highest  dignitaries  in  the  land — 
Of  whom,  was  sober  Superstition — grave, 
Sedate,  and  some  inclin'd  to  be  austere. 
The  wise  Tradition,  ven'rable  with  age 
Was  there.    He'd  won  the  hearts  of  all,  in  youth, 
Until  his  influence  was  like  the  tall, 
Strong  posts,  which  Sampson  level'd  when  he  slew 
The  multitudes,  and  perish'din  the  midst. 


222  poems. 


He  had  been  thro'  the  wars  of  olden  times — 
Fatigue;  and  then  so  many  years  bad  pass'd 
Around  his  head;  a  snowy  whiteness  ting'd 
His  locks,  which  wav'd  in  graceful  dignity: 
He  look'd  so  wise  and  sanctimonious, 
His  words  were  unequivocally  law. 

Of  equal  rank,  and  not  a  distant  kin 
To  him,  was  Party-zeal.     The  holy  fire 
Of  patriotism  fill'd  his  ardeut  soul: 
The  welfare  of  his  country  was  his  best — 
His  only  claim 'd  inheritance;  and  he 
Had  sworn  to  advocate  it,  right  or  wrong. 
Tho'  nature  had,  in  some  sly  prank  of  hers, 
Robb'd  him  of  his  corporeal  sight;  still  he 
Retain' d  his  mental  vision  quite  intense — 
He  held  the  office  of  Chief  Magistrate. 

Yes,  these,  and  many  more  of  kindred  blood, 
Were  to  the  famous  Council  call'd:  and  each 
Submitted  to  the  oath  of  secrecy, 
Which  was  administer'd  by  Party-zeal. 

The  place  selected,  was  a  mystic  maze, 
Where  no  nice,  scrutinizing  ken  could  reach; 
Where  all  were  seated  in  a  still  surprise 
That  well  comported  with  the  silence  of 
The  dark,  dark  night  that  spread  its  vail  around. 
Poor  Error's  sad  condition  was  to  all 
Distressing  news,  of  which,  not  one  before, 
Except  Suspicion,  had  presentiments. 

Blind  Party-zeal  arose  :Their  eager  eyes 
At  once,  instinctively  were  fix'd  on  him, 


poems.  223 


Like  the  expectant  infant's  watchful  look, 

That  hangs  upon  the  mother's  countenance; 

While  he  proceeded  thus:  "Dearly  belov'd, 

You  know  I  am  not  privileg'd  to  read 

The  feelings  of  your  bosoms,  in  your  looks, — 

But  yet  I  feel  within  my  soul,  that  all 

Join,  with  one  int'rest,  in  the  common  cause. 

You  truly  know  that  I  have  ever  been 

A  faithful  servant  of  this  commonwealth; 

And  with  the  greatest  pleasure  would  I  be 

A  servant  still:  And  this  I  would  propose: 

That  whosoever  will  devise  the  means 

Effectual,  for  the  object  now  in  view, 

Shall  be  awarded  with  the  second  place 

In  rank  of  all  imperial  dignities — 

To  be  ensur'd  hereditary  right, 

As  soon  as  Error  shall  obtain  the  crown. 

If  you  approve  the  plan,  adopt  it  soon — 
Let  not  a  moment  pass  inertly  by, 
That  has  great  consequences  pending  on." 

The  motion  of  old  Party-zeal,  was  heard 
With  gladness;  for  in  such  a  doubtful  case, 
No  sacrifice  could  be  too  great;  and  no 
Inducement  of  reward,  be  rais'd  too  high. 

An  instrument  was  drawn  in  legal  form, 
Which  would  secure  the  honorary  grant; 
To  which  they  severally  subscrib'd. 

Then  all 
Was  still  as  the  low  mansions  of  the  dead: 


224  POEMS. 


None  dar'd— none  wish'd  to  speak,  lest  hapless  he 
Should  interrupt  some  half-way  moulded  scheme. 
Thus  for  the  space  of  two  well  measur'd  hours, 
The  members  of  the  Council  sat. 

The  faint, 
Blue  twilight  of  the  morning  had  begun 
To  play  around  them,  when  Deceit  arose. 
"My  friends,"  said  he,  "give  audience:  I've  a  plan 
That  will,  if  promptly  executed,  meet 
The  present  crisis.    I  would  gladly  spare 
Your  feelings  friends;  but  this  is  not  a  time 
For  flattery — and  therefore  be  assur'd 
There's  nothing  kept  in  Hades,  Earth,  or  Heav'n, 
That  would  empower  our  young  Prince  to  act 
When  unsupported  by  his  parents'  aid. 
Yet  if  they  will  submit  (submit  they  must, 
For  'tis  the  only  hope)  to  be  confin'd 
In  secrecy  forever  at  his  side; 
I'll  get  the  cloak  my  royal  father  wore 
With  such  success  to  Eden's  garden,  when 
He  gave  the  happy  pair  forbidden  fruit. 
It  is  constructed  with  expansive  pow'rs 
Which  might  extend  it  to  a  monstrous  size: 
And  then  'tis  of  a  texture  so  unlike 
All  else:  it  suits  all  seasons  of  the  year — 
All  business,  all  occasions,  and  all  climes. 
'Twould  clasp  around  young  Error's  neck,  and  hang- 
In  such  nice,  intricately  plaited  folds; 
That  Prejudice  and  Ignorance  might  stand 
Beneath,  on  either  side,  and  skillfully 
Bear  him  erect,  in  spite  of  common  sense." 


poems.  225 


"Go  then,"  said  Prejudice,  "we'll  have  it  tried. 
While  you  are  absent,  Ignorance  and  I 
Will  go  and  have  our  son  in  waiting  here." 

"Make  haste,"  said  Party -zeal,  in  a  low  tone, 
To  young  Formality;  "provide  a  steed, 
And  mount  Deceit,  and  speed  him  on  his  way." 
No  sooner  said  than  done. 

Then  like  a  swift 
Skylark,  they  saw  him  flit  across  the  white 
Aerial  plains,  and  like  a  little  speck, 
Almost  invisible,  that  floats  upon 

The  moving  air;  they  saw  him  sink  beneath 
The  broad  horizon's  low,  encircling  arch; 
Onward  he  flies,  tho'  far  beyond  the  reach 
Of  other  ken  than  that  of  spirits  wild, 
That  are  let  loose  abroad  the  airy  fields 
Of  false  imagination.    Passing  through 
Black  misty  glens  of  vapors  volatile, 
And  miry  pits  where  fell  confusion  hiss'd; 
At  length  he  reach 'd  the  habitation  of 
The  great,  notorious  Lucifer. 

Deceit 
Was  second  son  to  his  dark  majesty, 
Who  was  enraptur'd  to  embrace  once  more 
His  well  beloved  son;  and  anxious  too, 
To  hear,  thro'  him,  the  present  state  of  things 
In  the  new  world:  he  deeply  felt  for  them — 
Being  a  colony  he  planted  there. 
Long,  long  ago— a  puny  thing  at  first, 


226  poems. 


But  he  had  sent  them  annual  supplies; 

And  had  transfer'd  to  them,  the  Government, 

With  the  advice  that  they  should  rear  a  king. 

'Twas  Lucifer  that  whisper'd  to  the  scribes 

And  the  astrologers,  at  Error's  birth, 

That  he  should  hold  the  reins  of  Government. 

When  the  infernal  monarch  heard  Deceit 
Explain  the  business  of  his  morning  ride, 
He  smiled  approval  to  the  wily  scheme. 
Then  giving  him  the  cloak,  and  bidding  him 
Good  speed;  he  sent  him  on  his  way. 

Deceit 
Retrod  the  dubious  track — when  gazing  still, 
The  anxious  members  of  the  Council  spied, 
Amidst  the  softly  gliding,  vap'ry  clouds, 
A  little  something  fast  approximate, 
Until  within  the  province  of  their  sight: 
When  lo!  the  hero  came.    Error  was  there 
In  readiness;  for  it  was  then  mid-day. 

The  steed  selected  for  the  champion's  use 
Was  Popularity— surefooted,  he 
Was  much  the  safest  beast  in  all  the  realm, 
To  journey  on  an  unfrequented  way; 
His  pace  was  easy  to  the  rider,  too. 

"Thou'rt  welcome  back  again,"  said  Party-zeal: 
As  bold  Deceit  dismounted,  and  the  kind 
Formality  secur'd  the  gorgeous  reins: 
"You've  been  successful  too— I  gladly  see 


poems.  227 


The  precious  cloak  is  folded  on  your  arm. 
Well  you  have  fairly,  altho'  cheaply  won 
For  you  an  everlasting  rank."     "Stay,  stay," 
Said  Superstition,  "  'tis  a  heinous  sin 
To  talk  of  such  unhallow'd  trifles  now: 
But  try  the  garment,  brave  Deceit,  and  see 
Whether  'twill  answer  the  design  or  not." 

His  tone  inspir'd  a  reverential  awe; 
For  e'en  his  motions  were  imperative; 
And  they  all  felt  that  Party-zeal  had  sinn'd: 
So  they  look'd  sadly  grave,  to  make  amends. 

On  Error's  shoulders,  then  the  cloak  was  hung 
While,  sire  and  mother  stood  beneath  each  arm. 
Achilles'  armor  did  not  fit  so  well 
His  fair  Patroclus,  as  this  fitted  all. 

Joyful  to  find  the  scheme  complete;  some  gave 
A  shout— and  even  Superstition  smil'd, 
And  bowing  down  to  Error,  wish'd  him  peace, 
And  an  immortal  reign. 

Declining  day 
Began  to  deck  itself  in  sable  shades, 
Reminding  them  of  home.    Accordingly, 
When  they  had  sev 'rally  agreed  to  spread 
The  word  that  Prejudice  and  Ignorance 
Had  died  on  yesternight;  and  they  had  been 
To  the  performance  of  the  obsequies — 
That  the  bereaved  Error  was  array'd 
In  mourning  deep;  they  left  the  wild  recess — 
Dispersing  to  their  sev'ral  homes,  except 


228  POEMS. 


Duplicity,  who  secretly  threw  up, 

Beneath  the  supple  willow's  boughs,  two  mounds, 

Of  equal  length  and  side  by  side:  and  there 

The  population  ran  with  pious  zeal, 

To  pay  to  the  departed  ones,  their  last, 

Best  honors;  and  to  worship  at  their  shrines. 

For  soon  the  tidings,  like  the  fiercest  gale 

That  sinks  the  forest  low,  had  reach' d  their  ears, 

And  young  Credulity  pronounc'd  it  true. 

We'll  leave  them  now  in  this  promiscuous  scene — 
Some  sad — some  feigning  sadness— deeply  all 
Are  sympathizing  in  th'  expected  joy, 
Awaiting  Error's  coronation  day: 
And  we  will  take  a  passing  view  beyond 
That  long,  wild,  angling,  cloud-top 'd  hill— that  mount, 
Which  rises  on  the  other  side  of  those 
Extensive,  smooth,  and  barren  plains,  which  were, 
And  are,  life-leas'd  to  old  Stupidity. 


poems.  229 


CHAPTER   SECOND. 

Contents.-—  Conversation  between  Investigation  and  Candor 
concerning  the  courtship  of  Inquiry  and  Knowledge — In- 
quiry obtains  consent — Their  nuptials — Inquiry's  narrative 
—Birth  of  Truth— His  prospects— The  infant  Experience  - 
His  predecessor's  visit  to  the  parents— Conversation — His 
bequest— Departure,  etc. 

"You  know,  dear  wife,"  Investigation  said 
To  his  beloved  Candor,  as  they  walked 
Abroad  one  moonlight  eve,  "that  noble  lad, 
Surnamed  Inquiry,  frequently  has  spent 
The  social  hour  with  us,  and  have  we  not 
Observed,  when  our  fair  daughter,  Knowledge  conies, 
Unconsciously  she  draws  him  to  her  side, 
While  hand  in  hand  they  tread  the  flow'ry  walks 
Supremely  happy  in  a  mutual  love? 

Well,  yesternight,  as  he  and  I,  alone 
Beside  the  open  window  sat  and  gazed 
Upon  the  clear  full  moon  that  spreads  her  beams 
And  hides  the  unassuming  stars;  my  mind 
Strayed  far  away  in  those  deep  labyrinths 
That  twine  and  intertwine  like  gilded  clouds 
Around  creation's  folded  mysteries. 
But  other  thoughts  possess'd  Inquiry's  brain. 
He  whisper'd  in  my  ear  that  he  would  fain 
Make  one  request,  and  could  not  be  denied. 
Then  said,  most  bashfully,  'For  Knowledge,  Sir, 
I  ask:  I  love  her,  and  would  sacrifice 


230  POEMS. 


My  all,  if  on  no  other  terms,  I  could 
The  purchase  make,  and  take  her  to  myself.' 
In  earnestness  of  soul,  he'd  lowly  bow'd 
Upon  his  knees.    I  told  him,  I  might  grant 
His  noble  wish,  but  must  consult  thee  first." 

"Ah,  yes,"  said  Candor,  for  her  gentle  heart 
Was  frank  and  open,  as  the  light  of  noon 
Without  a  cloud:  "I  knew  long  time  ago 
That  his  affections  were  intently  fix'd 
Upon  our  child;  and  often  have  I  turned 
Aside,  to  hide  the  voluntary  smile, 
As  I  beheld  how  modestly  she  shunn'd 
His  fond  pursuit  and  kind  caressing  tones 
To  her,  till  he  grew  sociable  with  us. 

Inquiry  was  so  shy  of  us  at  first, 
I  even  thought  'twas  his  intent  to  steal 
Fair  Knowledge  off  and  never  ask  consent. 
However  that  might  be,  she  cautiously 
Refused  attentions  proffered  her,  until 
Her  parents  had  received  a  due  respect; 
And  just  so  fast  as  he  grew  intimate 
With  us;  so  fast  she  laid  aside  her  cold 
And  distant  mien,  and  grew  affectionate. 
He  truly  is  a  youth  of  promise,  and 
He  bears  so  great  resemblance  to  thyself, 
I  think  him  worthy  of  her;  and  I  know 
If  he  does  not  abuse  her,  she  will  prove 
A  treasure  richer  far  than  golden  gems." 

Then  Candor  ask'd  her  lord's  consent,  to  give 
Permission  to  the  sage  Experience; 


POEMS.  231 

And  off  he  sped  to  let  Inquiry  know 
That  kind  Investigation  and  his  spouse, 
Would  have  him  wed  the  idol  of  his  heart. 

They,  who  have  felt  the  close  tormenting  chain 
Of  doubtful  hope;  and  seen  it  terminate 
In  the  possession  of  their  dearest  wish; 
Know  best,  how  young  Inquiry  felt  at  the 
Reception  of  the  joyful  news. 

He  soon 
Attir'd  himself  to  fit  the  bridal  hour: 
A  plain,  full  suit,  he  chose,  for,  such,  he  knew 
Would  better  please  Investigation's  eye, 
Than  splendid  robes  and  dazzling  ornaments. 

While  he  made  ready,  Perseverance  got 
The  coach  equip'd;  for  Perseverance  had 
Attended  him  as  coachman,  always  when 
He  paid  his  visits  to  his  love:    Tho'  once, 
He  undertook  the  tour  with  Indolence, 
But  then  he  lost  his  way,  and  wander'd  home. 

All  things  in  readiness— Inquiry  took 
His  customary  seat  with  throbbing  heart; 
And  bade  the  coachman  drive  and  "tarry  not 
In  all  the  plain,' '  nor  heed  the  craggy  steeps, 
Nor  swelling  streams. 

Delighted  Knowledge  saw 
The  coach  arrive;  for  on  that  morning  she 
Had  deck'd  herself  for  him,  with  richest  pearls. 
She  look'd  most  fair;  and  in  her  sparkling  eyes 


232  poems. 


There  was  a  glow  so  full  of  meaning,  she 

Might  well  have  won  an  angel's  love.    With  speed 

Like  thought,  Inquiry  left  the  carriage  seat, 

And  at  Investigation's  feet,  he  bow'd, 

Then  press'd  a  kiss  on  gentle  Candor's  hand, 

But  only  gave  a  smile  to  her  he  lov'd; 

For  she  was  not  his  own,  and  he  had  learn'd 

Ere  then,  that  he  must  pluck  the  flow'r  before 

He  quaff' d  its  fragrancy. 

The  bridal  hour 
Arriv'd,  but  brought  with  it  no  pompous  show: 
And  no  vain,  jesting  crowd  assembled  there. 

Intelligence  politely  notified 
A  few  associates,  and  seated  them 
Genteelly  in  the  spacious  drawing  room; 
And  Candor  saw  Inquiry  plac'd,  and  then 
Investigation  led  the  bride  to  him— 
Squire  Application  rose,  and  legally 
Perform 'd  the  sacred  rite. 

The  service  o'er — 
The  fair  Complacency  serv'd  round  the  treat. 
In  golden  cups,  nature's  pure  bev'rage  flow'd; 
While  platters  loaded  with  the  choicest  fruits; 
And  every  rich  variety  of  Art, 
By  Diligence  and  Industry  prepar'd; 
In  lib'ral  hospitality  were  spread; 
And  all,  with  cheerfulness,  partook  of  a 
Rich  nuptial  feast,  while  Affability, 
In  sweetest  strains,  his  liveliest  harp  attun'd. 


poems.  233 

"My  children,"  said  Investigation,  to 
The  wedded  pair,  when  all  the  guests  were  gone: 
"It  is  our  wish  that  you  should  not 
Depart  from  us.    I've  wide,  extensive  fields- 
Fine  verdant  plains,  and  forests  spreading  far, 
And  rich,  unfathom'd  mines;    All,  all  shall  be 
At  your  command,  provided  you  remain. 
You  both  are  young,  and  Knowledge  needs,  as  yet, 
A  mother's  care.    Our  old  Experience 
Is  settled  here,  and  he  is  vastly  rich 
In  all  the  precious  stones  of  ancient  use — 
'Twould  be  his  happiness  to  serve  you  here." 

"O  how  shall  I  repay  thy  kindness,  Sir," 
The  son  replied:     "Thanks  seem  too  mean  a  gift 
To  offer  now;  but  ever  will  I  be 
A  dutious,  faithful  child.    Thou  knowest  well 
The  colony  in  yon  adjacent  realm; 
And  my  possessions  lay  so  nearly  by, 
That  intercourse  with  the  inhabitants 
Was  unavoidable :  Though  had  I  known 
Them  better  at  the  first,  I  never  would 
Have  suffer'd  such  repeated  wrongs."  "What  wrongs?" 
Inquir'd  Investigation.     "Let  me  hear. 
They've  often  tried  their  black,  infernal  tricks 
On  me:  but  I've  chastis'd  them  sorely  and 
They  now  seem  weary  of  their  base  pursuit." 

"My  hardy  servant,  Perseverance,  is 
A  bold,  courageous  fellow,  otherwise 
I  heartily  believe,  I  never  should 
Have  press'd  this  lovely  jewel  to  my  heart, 


21 


234  poems. 


Or  call'd  her  mine,"  Inquiry  said;  "for  all 

The  machinations  mischief  could  invent, 

I've  had  to  stem.    Suspicion  does  profess 

To  tell  deep  hidden  things :  At  any  rate, 

Those  round  about  him,  intimated  long 

Ago  that  Knowledge  had  bewitch'd  my  heart; 

And  ever  since,  they've  throng'd  my  house  by  day, 

And  pillag'd  my  possessions  in  the  night. 

Such  proffer'd  friendship  hung  upon  their  lips, 

They  stole  away  my  richest  goods,  before 

I  could  believe  their  treachery.    Oft  times 

Blind  Party-zeal  has  cjunseled  me,  with  tears; 

And  warn'd  me  to  beware  of  you;  and  told 

Such  frightful  tales— how  you  tormented  all 

That  ever  come,  till  they  grew  idiots: 

I  really  was  afraid  of  thee.    E'en  old 

Deceit  has  spent  whole  weeks  convincing  me 

That  thy  fair  daughter,  Knowledge,  was  a  sheer 

Impostor — thdt  the  sage  Tradition  had 

The  genuine  fair;  and  thine  was  but  a  proud 

Disdainful  thing.    Well,  in  suspense  I  went 

And  ask'd  Tradition.     'Yes,'  he  said;  but  did 

Not  introduce  her,  though  I  waited  long. 

He  recommended  Credence  as  a  match 

Best  fitting  me.    He  said  she  was  so  mild, 

So  pleasant,  tame,  and  peaceable,  that  one 

Might  spend  a  life  more  quietly  with  her, 

Than  any  lass  he  knew.    And  more  than  that; 

If  I'd  accept  of  her,  he'd  make  me  heir 

To  his  estate.    His  riches  are  immense— 

His  landed  titles  of  anterior  date, 


POEMS.  235 


Would  have  supported  me  in  luxury 
And  idleness. 

I've  some  acquaintance  with 
Miss  Credence— She's  a  pleasant  thing  indeed; 
But  she's  decidedly  too  tame  for  me, 
For  ev'ry  passing  stranger  might  enjoy 
Her  charms  in  common  with  myself.    I  hate 
A  soul  so  spiritless. 

The  influence 
Those  beings  held  o'er  me,  has  cost  me  much; 
Distancing  me  from  Candor  and  thyself — 
And  Knowledge  was  so  cold  to  me,  I  'gan 
To  think,  what  Superstition  said,  was  true. 
He  told  me  Knowledge  was  of  birth  too  high 
For  me  to  gain;  and  by  persisting  on, 
I  should  heap  endless'  curses  on  my  head. 

But  Perseverance  urg'd  me  still  to  try 
My  fortune  here;  and  many  times  he  drove, 
My  carriage  thro'  thick  show'rs  of  missiles,  thrown 
By  their  light  troops  that  scouted  round." 

Thus  clos'd 
Inquiry's  narrative.    And  with  a  fine 
Refreshing  walk  among  the  fragrant  flow'rs 
That  spread  their  sweetness  out,  as  if  t'  atone 
For  the  departure  of  the  setting  sun;     9 
They  clos'd  the  wedding  day. 

O,  who  would  not 
Have  felt  the  heavy  weight  of  sadness,  if 


236  poems. 


Forbidden  to  assemble  oft  with  this 
Delightful  group,  as  time  pursued  its  course, 
And  seasons  pass'd  most  pleasantly  away? 

But  when  the  gracious  Spirit  bless 'd  them  with 
A  son,  the  lovely  Truth,  so  beautiful; 
To  grace  their  board;  methinks  an  angel  might 
Have  heav'd  a  sigh  of  sorrow,  if  debar'd 
The  satisfaction  of  commingling  there. 
For  Truth  bore  in  his  infant  countenance 
The  impress  of  Divinity;  and  the 
Clear  light  of  morning  seem'd  made  up  of  shades 
Of  mingled  brown,  contrasted  with  the  pure 
Bright  beams  that  emanated  from  his  eye: 
And  he  was  like  a  constellation  in 
Inquiry's  view;  whose  spirit  was  enlarg'd; 
And  while  he  lov'd  his  son  to  ecstacy, 
His  fond  esteem  for  Knowledge  lessen'd  not— 
She  was  still  more  belov'd  on  Truth's  account. 

One  evening  twilight,  when  the  noble  pair   * 
Were  seated  side  by  side,  and  with  sweet  smiles 
And  mutual  love,  caress'd  the  cherub  child; 
Inquiry  said,  to  his  fair  consort,  thus: 
"My  love,  e'er  since  the  birth-day  of  our  own 
Angelic  Truth,  maternal  watchfulness, 
Like  a  delightful  spell  that  never  seeks 
Relief  from  fond  solicitude,  has  bound 
Thee  gently  to  Ms  cradled  infancy, 
E'en  nearer  than  myself. 

Hast  thou  observ'd 
Amidst  thy  constant  watchings,  round  his  head, 


poems.  237 


A  halo  of  transcendent  brightness  play, 

With  grandeur  greater  than  the  eye  could  scan?" 

"O  yes,  and  truly  long  I've  wish'd  to  join 
With  thee,  my  spouse,  in  converse  sweet  upon 
This  topic;  for  it  has  engross' d  my  mind 
By  day  and  night.    I've  even  dar'd  to  think 
Our  child  of  a  celestial  origin, 
Sent  here  a  noble  purpose  to  fulfil; 
For  at  his  birth,  bright  spirits  from  the  skies 
Were  hov'ring  round  about.    I've  often  seen 
His  features  glow  with  dazzling  radiance,  and 
His  eyes  directed  upward  with  intense 
And  fix'd  expression,  and  I  truly  think 
He  was  communing  with  the  upper  world. 

Dost  thou  not  well  remember  when  my  sire, 
With  deep-ton 'd  fervor,  has  commented  on 
Those  records  of  anterior  date,  which  Time 
Has  left  in  his  possession — how  he  oft  rehears 'd 
Tales  of  deep  int'rest,  when  in  olden  times 
A  conduit,  unobstructed  with  dark  clouds 
Of  wickedness,  or  sightless  fogs  of  doubt; 
Was  free  and  open  'twixt  the  upper  skies 
And  this  our  lowdy  residence:  And  then, 
Bright  spirits  often  mingled  with  our  race." 

"Yes,"  said  Inquiry — "Change  will  never  blot 
From  the  broad  page  of  my  remembrance,  those 
Ecstatic  thoughts  my  swelling  bosom  thrill 'd, 
When  thy  lov'd  Sire,  Investigation,  sketch'd 
The  splendid  sceneries  of  ages  past: 


238  poems. 


And  now  my  spirit  burns  within  me,  when 
I  look  with  though tfulness  upon  the  form 
Of  our  beloved  little  one;  and  think 
He's  sent  to  us,  again  to  usher  in 
A  brilliant  scene  of  things,  surpassing  all 
The  records  have  ascrib'd  to  olden  times." 

The  joyous  soul  of  Knowledge,  sparkled  in 
Her  eye,  as  her  loved  consort  finished  thus, 
Their  evening  colloquy. 

Weeks  congregated  into  months,  and  months 
Roll'd  up  the  year.    Young  Truth,  with  placid  look, 
Was  gazing  on  the  smiling  countenance 
Of  his  late  welcom'd  brother. 

Morn,  fair  morn 
Had  just  spread  forth  her  earliest,  faintest  ray 
Abroad  the  canopy  of  nature,  when 
Inquiry  whisper'd  to  his  spouse;  as  both 
Sat  most  affectionately  by  the  side 
Of  Truth  and  the  then  nameless  one:    "My  love, 
A  knock  is  at  the  gate— who  should  intrude 
Upon  the  sacred  quietude  of  this 
First  dawn  of  day?"    He  had  no  sooner  clos'd 
His  query,  than  the  porter  usher'd  in 
Experience,  the  aged  fav'rite  of 
The  generation  just  gone  by. 


"I 

Your  pardon,  youthful  friends,"  said  he,  "for  this 
Untimely  call.    Business  like  mine,  demands 


poems.  239 


An  hour  that  shall  precede  the  presence  of 
The  quizzing  multitude.    I'd  fain  confer 
With  you,  upon  a  subject  which  concerns 
Yourselves  not  only;  but  will  much  affect 
The  public  weal.    Last  night,  ere  twilight  down, 
The  keen,  bright-eyed  Discernment,  who  resides 
Across  the  way;  call'd  at  my  residence, 
And  in  her  usual,  shrewd,  prophetic  style, 
Discours'd  to  me  about  your  elder  son: 
Saying  that  his  proud  destiny  ordain 'd 
For  him  to  reach  the  highest  summit  of 
Yon  lofty  hill,  whose  tow'ring  eminence, 
Projects  above  the  influence  of  the  clouds— 
That  he  shall  be  triumphantly  enthron'd 
In  that  palladium  of  honor,  while 
Its  rich,  emblazon'd  spires  superbly  wave 
High  o'er  bhe  brightest  of  the  orbs  above. 

Well,  as  upon  my  sleepless  couch  I  lay; 
I  ponder'd  o'er  those  things,  and  ponder'd  too 
About  myself— how  illy  I  appear'd, 
To  bear  companionship  with  Truth  in  such 
A  splendid,  bold  career.    My  features  are 
Too  earthly,  and  my  voice  too  tremulous — 
My  form  uncouth,  too  freely  savors  of 
The  carnal  mould.    Train'd  from  my  early  youth 
In  old  Tradition's  school;  and  often  class'd 
With  reckless  Ignorance;  my  mind  receiv'd 
An  impulse  that  full  often  downward  tends — 
My  garments  are  too  much  encumber'd  with 
The  useless  trappings  of  the  ages  past! 


240  POEMS. 

I  therefore  never  shall  aspire  to  tread 
An  upward  course  of  equal  height  with  you: 
But  if  my  name  you  will  confer  upon 
Your  younger  son;  I  will  bequeath  to  you, 
For  him,  and  for  the  benefit  of  all 
The  future  advocates  of  Truth;  the  whole 
Of  my  estate,  comprising  all  the  spoils 
Of  conquests  won,  and  treasures  gather'd  up 
By  centuries  of  toil;  and  sparkling  gems 
From  deep  sequester 'd  mines;  brought  forth  by  the 
Strong  burthen-bearer,  concentrated  Thought. 

Thus  I'll  dispose  of  my  effects:  and  then 
•  In  person  I  will  cheerfully  retire 
Anon,  and  seek  a  peaceful  quietus 
Down  in  Oblivion's  glen,  and  seat  myself 
Beside  the  purling  streams,  where  silently 
Lethe's  cool  waters,  soft  and  gently  flow. 

Beneath  the  care  of  Knowledge—by  the  side 
Of  Truth,  the  young  Experience  will  grow 
Like  a  young  plant  beside  the  water  brooks — 
His  features  will  like  polish'd  gems  appear, 
And  light  and  glory  shine  upon  his  path." 

The  parents,  grateful  for  the  gen'rous  flow 
Of  patriotism,  the  sage  Experience 
So  frankly  proffer 'd  them,  return 'd  their  thanks 
With  mutual  promise  that  the  infant  should 
Henceforward,  to  his  mem'ry,  bear  his  name. 

"But,"  said  Experience,  "one  subject  more 
Demands  a  prompt  attention.    Contrast  is 
The  talisman  of  pure  Intelligence; 


POEMS.  241 

Therefore  my  blooming  namesake's  features,  must, 

From  time  to  time,  in  bold  comparison, 

Be  shown  with  my  pale,  shadowy  countenance. 

It  little  will  avail,  altho'  his  form 
Should  grow  as  fair  as  Lebanon,  and  rise 
As  high  as  her  tall  cedars,  should  it  not 
Occasionally  be  in  contrast  plac'd 
With  my  low,  meagre  personage.' ' 

"Indeed," 
Said  Knowledge,  "it  is  truly  so:  but  then, 
It  seems  thou  hast  thy  purpose  fix'd,  to  hide 
Thyself  forever  in  obscurity." 

"Prompt  to  your  service,"  said  the  aged  one, 
"I'll  hold  myself  in  constant  readiness, 
And  when  the  friends  of  Truth  shall  call 
With  clear,  sonorous  voice;  with  swiftness  of 
The  lightning's  flash,  or  like  a  spirit,  sent 
From  nether  spheres  remote;  I  will  come  forth 
And  stand  beside  the  young  Experience, 
To  aid  you  in  your  future  struggles  with 
The  neighb'ring  Commonwealth."      "What  struggles, 

pray?" 
Inquiry  said,  with  keen  solicitude. 

"  'Tis  not  my  province  to  prognosticate 
In  things  to  come,"  replied  Experience. 

"Last  night,  Discernment  bid  me  take  one  peep 
Ahead,  thro'  her  perspective  tube;  else  I 
Had  never  made  this  morning  call.    I  saw 
That  youngster  of  gigantic  stature,  who 
Is  highly  doated  on  in  yonder  realm; 


22 


242  POEMS. 


Aspire  to  be  the  hero  of  his  clan, 
And  monarch  of  surrounding  realms,    But  my 
Weak  vision  could  not  circumscribe  those  things; 
And  my  faint  elocution  can't  describe 
E'en  what  I  plainly  saw.    Discernment  will 
Instruct  you  freely  in  those  mysteries: 
Meantime,  be  sure  from  what  I  saw  and  heard, 
That  nothing  augurs  harm  to  yours  and  you." 

Then,  after  having  made  the  said  transfer 
Of  Goods  and  Chatties,  Lands  and  Tenements; 
The  Sage,  with  an  affectionate  farewell, 
Took  his  departure  for  the  "Land  of  Nod." 


CHAPTER   THIRD. 

Contents.-— T/ie  scene  opens  with  the  sound  of  war— Surprise 
of  young  Experience— The  manner  of  Truth  composes  him— 
Description  of  Truth — Investigation  musters  his  forces — The 
storm— The  friends  of  Truth  assemble  around  his  standard — 
The  storm  subsides— Inquiry  goes  forth  to  ascertain  its 
effect— Tlie  cause  of  the  storm— Description  of  Falsehood  by 
Investigation— The  group  disperses— The  nativity  of  Truth— 
His  mission— His  visit  to  the  mountain  arbor  in  company 
with  Experience— Invocation— A  seraph  meets  them— His 
instructions  and  departure— Serenade. 

Like  the  loud  crash  of  coming  tempest,  when 
Its  furious  blast  lays  low  the  forest  pride; 
And  like  the  roar  of  far-off  thunder  peals 


poems.  243 


Upon  the  ear  of  midnight;  came  the  sound 
Of  war.     'Tvvas  not  a  war  of  elements — 
'Twas  not  a  war  of  winds  and  waves— a  strife 
Of  nature,  when  her  laws  in  contact  wage 
A  furious  contest;  seeming  to  forget 
Th'  eternal  chain  that  binds  varieties, 
And  of  ten  thousand  times  ten  thousand;  forms 
One  great — one  grand,  consolidated  whole. 

No;  'twas  a  warfare,  of  an  origin 
Long,  long  anterior  to  the  earliest  tread 
Of  Time  upon  Earth's  checker'd  carpeting; 
'Twixt  Truth  and  Error:  and  relentlessly; 
Though  oft  the  scene  is  chang'd  from  place  to  place- 
Although  the  scenery  is  oft  renewed; 
The  never  ending  contest  rages  yet. 

The  young  Experience  had  not  grown  up 
To  manhood,  ere  the  hoarse,  discordant  sound 
Of  war,  fell  on  his  unaccustom'd  ear; 
And  with  its  thunders,  chas'd  beyond  his  ken, 
Those  fair  illusions  of  refin'd  repose, 
His  cradled  dreams  had  on  his  vision  sketch 'd. 
A  momentary  shade  came  o'er  his  brow 
At  first;  but  soon  the  shadow  was  dispel'd 
By  the  commanding  countenance  of  Truth, 
Who  had  become  a  youth  of  stature  fine — 
Of  mein  majestic  as  the  tow 'ring  fir 
That  rears  its  disk  amid  the  forest  wild. 
He  spoke  a  pure— a  perfect  dialect, 
And  one  unlike  to  that  in  common  use; 
Fraught  with  a  mild,  yet  bold  austerity — 
Such  as  his  enemies  could  never  brook. 


244  POEMS. 


To  prove  that  Truth  had  enemies,  is  but 
To  prove  that  no  existence  ever  could 
Be  known  as  such,  without  its  opposite— 
That  contrast  is  Creation's  pulse — her  great 
Thermometer  of  being — her  grand  scale, 
In  which  to  illustrate  realities. 

Truth  knew  no  fear;  and  the  war-clarion's  sound 
Most  surely  would  have  fall'n  upon  his  ear 
Like  the  sweet  music  of  the  summer  breeze; 
Had  its  shrill  notes  but  come  to  summon  him 
To  honorable  war;  where  strife  with  strife 
Was  openly  and  honorably  wag'd — 
A  contest  where  e'en  fierce  hostility 
Descended  not  to  measures  basely  mean — 
Where  "sword  with  sword— arm  or  with  armor  join 'd," 
With  purpose  noble  and  a  noble  foe. 

Investigation  heard  the  rude  alarm, 
And  with  a  purpos'd  aim  to  place  himself 
In  the  proud  front  of  battle;  marshalling 
His  gathering  hosts,  prepar'd  to  meet  the  fight. 

Candor  essay 'd  to  bear  him  company: 
For  to  her  noble  lord,  her  gentle  heart 
As  closely  clung,  as  twines  the  ivy  round 
The  sturdy  oak;  and  in  her  constant  care 
For  him,  she  heeded  not  what  might  befall 
Herself,  e'en  though  oppos'd  to  hostile  foes. 
But  then  the  beardless  boy,  Experience 
Essay'd  to  urge  the  impropriety 


poems.  245 

For  one  so  gentle,  delicate,  and  fair, 
To  dare  presume  to  stem  the  tide  of  war. 

With  deeply  chasten'd  thought,  and  looks  abash 'd — 
Feeling  as  virtuous  woman  ever  feels 
When  fearful  lest  her  deep  solicitude 
Has  borne  her  o'er  the  line  that  bounds  her  sphere; 
Candor  retir'd  nor  sought  the  scene  of  strife. 

Before  the  shrill,  reverberating  sound, 
The  thrilling  peal  of  "march,"  had  gone  abroad — 
While  many  hearts  dilated— many  a  pulse 
With  an  accelerated  motion  beat 
With  hope,  forvict'ry's  crested  diadem; 
Lo,  on  a  sudden,  from  th'  horizon's  disk 
Which  mantles  o'er  the  fields  of  Prejudice; 
A  cloud,  of  fearful  import,  black  as  night 
Appears  where  darkness  holds  her  revelries 
Beneath  the  hidden  stars:  by  boist'rous  gales 
Impel'd,  and  rife  with  blasting  thunderbolts 
That  seem'd  to  shake  creation's  self;  roll'd  on, 
And  strew 'd  unsparingly  the  with 'ring  force 
Of  its  tremendous  howl!    It  was  mid-day, 
But  scarce  a  solitary  beam  of  light, 
Which  emanated  from  the  glorious  orb 
On  high,  could  penetrate  the  low'ring  cloud 
Of  storm,  that  hid  the  canopy  above; 
Except  where  Truth  had  riveted  his  stand, 
And  stood  immovable. 

Where  he  had  fix'd 
His  pedestal  and  rear'd  his  standard — there 


246  poems. 


His  ensign  wav'd  on  high,  and  fearlessly 
Defied  a  storm  that  mock'd  the  elements, 
And  in  commotion  wrapt  the  world  abroad. 
There,  there  was  light,  in  spite  of  all  the  wild, 
Chaotic  darkness  rudely  howling  round. 
T'  escape,  if  possible,  unscath'd  amid 
The  coming  blast;  as  if  by  instinct  drawn; 
Investigation's  military  host, 
And  their  associating  kindred  friends, 
With  nimble  footsteps  gather'd  'round  the  spire 
Of  the  inflexible  and  dauntless  Truth. 

At  length  the  storm,  with  all  its  noise,  assuag'd, 
And  Hope's  celestial  rays  diffus'd  abroad 
Her  cheering  influence  o'er  the  scenery; 
While  a  commingling  beam  of  radiance  shone 
From  the  bright  countenance  of  noble  Truth. 

Investigation  sent  Inquiry  forth 
To  ascertain  whatever  the  effect — 
If  aught  of  consequence— or  good  or  ill. 

Some  traces  had  remain'd,  but  they  were  few, 
And  small,  compar'd  with  the  great  tumult  and 
The  noise  that  rag'd  abroad.    Some  "hangers  on," 
Who  stood  as  advocates  for  Truth,  when  all 
Was  sunshine,  calm,  and  clear;  but  when  the  cloud 
Arose;  ran  off,  like  goats  affrighted,  to 
The  neighb'ring  province.     Others,  too, 
Who  previously  had  stood  erect;  bow'd  down 
Beneath  the  weight  of  atmosphere— condens'd 
With  wild  Confusion's  hiss;  but  when  the  storm 


POEMS.  247 

Pass'd  by,  they  soon  regain'd  their  former  height, 
And  proper  attitude. 

But  many  were 
Of  such  unyielding  texture,  and  so  near 
Allied  to  Truth;  and  to  his  standard  had 
Adher'd  so  close;  they  laugh VI  amid  the  storm: 
A  storm,  which,  though  it  baffled  nature,  had 
Much  less  to  do  with  nature  than  with  art; 
As  was  discover'd  near  that  evening's  close, 
Whose  twilight  introduc'd  itself  upon 
A  large,  and  smiling  circle,  seated  round 
The  threshold  of  Inquiry;  talking  o'er 
Such  thoughts  as  the  occasion  might  inspire: 
When  eagle-eyed  Discernment,  rising  up; 
Address'd  the  audience  thus:  "Beloved  friends 
Amid  your  conversations  I  have  sat 
As  mutely  as  a  soulless  thing  should  sit, 
Beneath  the  sound  of  tall  Intelligence, 
Prompted  by  Erudition's  polish 'd  wand. 
Mine  is  a  silent,  not  an  idle  muse; 
My  thoughts  have  been  abroad— My  studious  mind, 
So  w6nt  to  search  the  lowest  depths,  and  climb 
To  uppei  heights,  has  been  conversing  with 
The  laws  of  clouds  and  storms;  and  I  have  found 
The  ruling  cause,  and  corresponding  means, 
Producing  the  tornado,  which,  to-day, 
Caus'd  our  unlook'd  for  interruption,  and 
Now  clothes  the  skies  in  lurid  mistiness. 
My  mind  has  trac'd  its  origin.     It  rose 
In  yonder  province.    There's  a  fruitful  forge, 
Where  storms,  and  clouds,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing, 


248  poems. 

Are  freely  manufactured.     'Tis  a  forge, 
According  to  the  tales  of  fabled  times; 
Not  all  unlike  to  that  which  Vulcan  us'd 
On  Lemnos'  Isle,  in  casting  thunderbolts 
For  his  great  father,  Jupiter.    The  forge 
From  which  tumultous  troubles  come  to  us, 
Is  located  in  the  vicinity 
Of  famous  Error,  son  of  Ignorance 
And  Prejudice.    It  is  committed  to 
The  faithful  care  of  Bigotry:  and  the 
Whole  operation  is  perform' d  by  one 
Whose  vigilance  and  persevering  skill 
Can  never  be  surpass'd.    Scandal,  and  lies, 
Detraction,  slander,  vile  abuse,  and  all 
That  catalogue  of  black  ingredients, 
Are  the  constituent  materials — 
The  compound  base,  of  his  infernal  works.'' 

Inquiry  then  arose,  and  earnestly 
Begg'd  old  Investigation  to  declare 
The  name  of  that  great  artisan  of  storms; 
Saying,  "If  we  can  trace  the  monster  out; 
We'll  spoil  his  works,  and  overthrow  the  cause 
Of  those  invet'rate  enemies  of  Truth." 

"That  famous  champion,  is  Falsehood,"  said 
Investigation.     "It  will  be  in  vain 
To  hope  for  his  destruction;  for  his  soul 
Is  made  invulnerable,  by  the  great 
Founder  oi  that  rude  province,  Lucifer; 
Who  has  bequeath'd  it  for  the  benefit, 


poems.  249 


Use,  and  behoof  of  those  inhabitants, 
So  long  as  they,  their  efforts  shall  combine 
In  the  support  of  Error.    Though  his  form 
Should  be  prostrated,  and  destroy 'd;  his  soul, 
Still  extant  Phcenix-like,  would  mould  itself 
Another  body,  and  perchance  a  shape 
Some  differing  from  the  last,  for  its  abode: 
But  still  it  would  survive,  and  still  pursue, 
In  form,  whatever  circumstance  might  choose; 
His  nature-woven— his  instinctive  trade — 
That  fiendish  art,  by  safari's  self,  inspir'd. 
And  therefore,  fruitless  will  all  efforts  prove, 
To  clear  from  yon  horizon,  those  thick  mists 
Of  darkness,  which  obstruct  the  trav'ler's  view; 
While  Prejudice  and  Ignorance  remain. 

The  information  from  Discernment  gain'd, 
Will  aid  in  future  movements,  which  we  may 
Devise  in  operations  form'd  to  quell 
Hostilities,  which  formidable  grow, 
And  day  by  day  producing  fresh  annoy. 

Henceforth,  to  meet  dishonorable  foes 
On  honorable  terms,  we  need  not  hope; 
But  we  must  keep  in  warlike  readiness; 
Lest  Error  take  us  unawares;  and  we, 
In  recklessness,  unarm'd,  to  contest  drawn; 
Should  prove  unvaliant  in  the  cause  of  Truth." 

Thus  clos'd  Investigation's  speech.    The  day 
Was  folding  on  the  crest  of  midnight,  its 
Expanded  robe — the  interesting  group 
Dispers'd,  each  to  his  dwelling:  musingly 


250  POEMS. 


Some  went,  and  some  in  converse  cheer'ly  join'd 
Upon  the  curious  termination  of 
The  bold  campaign,  to  which  that  morning's  dawn 
Had  call'd  them  forth;  with  only  Falsehood's  blast, 
Without  the  glory  and  the  pomp  of  war. 

Far,  far  above  the  lofty,  tow'ring  peak 
Of  that  high  mountain,  o'er  whose  noble  base, 
Truth's  mighty  banner  wav'd  most  gracefully; 
Is  an  immortal  citadel  of  Fame— 
The  bright  palladium  of  Honor — form'd 
By  skill  supernal  and  by  higher  pow'r 
Than  earthly — pois'd  securely  far  above 
The  reach  of  clashing  elements — beyond 
The  scathing  hand  of  Time's  impetuous  change. 

'Tis  Truth's  eternal  mansion — the  abode 
Of  his  nativity — the  glorious  crown 
Of  that  immortal — that  celestial  sphere, 
Whence  the  Great  Spirit,  the  high  Ruler  of 
The  worlds  on  high;  commission'd  him  to  tread 
The  courts  below — t' emblazon  Earth — to  give 
To  Time,  an  everlasting  consequence — 
To  place  substantially  on  nature's  brow, 
Imperishable  gems — to  gather  out 
From  human  life's  impervious  labyrinths 
Of  mixture  and  confusion;  every  thing 
Of  noble  mien:  all,  all  that  dare  confront 
The  sway  of  Error:  and  to  overthrow 
All  base  dominions,  and  to  reinstate 
Usurp'd  authorities — to  rally  round 
His  spire,  a  true,  high-aiming,  faithful  band, 


POEMS.  251 


And  train  them  for  his  native  citadel: 
To  mark  ttie  way,  and  lead  them  upward  to 
That  splendid  port — that  palace  of  Renown, 
Beyond  the  portals  of  Eternity. 

Such  was  his  royal  mission,  and  he  fear'd 
No  nether  pow'rs,  with  forces  all  combin'd; 
For  his  sweet  intercourse  with  hosts  that  dwelt 
In  realms  of  light,  was  free  and  unrestrain'd. 

After  the  tumult  of  that  blust'ring  day; 
In  company  with  blithe  Experience; 
Truth  sought  his  usual  recreation  for 
The  midnight  hour;  and  in  his  self-wrought  path, 
Which  he,  and  none  beside,  had  often  trod; 
They  reach'd  the  fav'rite  mountain's  summit.    There 
Within  a  fragrant  arbor  deck'd  with  vines 
Of  spicy  sweetness,  and  luxuriant  flow'rs — 
With  boughs  which  bent  beneath  the  luscious  weight 
Of  rich,  delicious  fruit,  in  mellowness 
That  mock'd  decay;  Truth  and  his  brother  sat 
Like  monarchs  o'er  the  scenes  beneath  their  feet. 

"Would'st  thou  behold  a  lovely  Seraph's  face, 
And  hear  instruction  flowing  from  the  lips 
Of  an  inhabitant  of  yonder  sphere?" 
Said  Truth 

Experience'  smiling  countenance, 
With  approbative  silence,  spoke  consent; 
When  Truth,  with  eye  uprais'd  invokingly 
Pour'd  his  effusion  thus, 


252  POEMS. 

Fly,  fly  Spirit,  fly, 

Thou  Seraph  in  light; 
While  the  stars  are  on  high 

To  sanctify  night: 
Come  down  in  thy  beauty, 

And  yield  us  a  charm- 
Let  us  bask  in  thy  glory, 

And  gaze  on  thy  form. 

Come,  come  to  thy  bower — 

The  vines  are  in  bloom — 
Each  Eden-like  flower 

Is  rife  with  perfume. 
The  fair  boughs  are  bending 

With  rich  mellow  fruit — 
Soft  zephyrs  are  blending, 

To  hail  thy  salute. 

O  come,  Spirit  come — 

Heav'n's  portals  are  wide: 
Why  should'st  thou  at  home 

Forever  abide? 
Come,  come  to  thy  arbor, 

Thy  sweet  scented  bow'r; 
'Tis  grievous  to  harbor 

Thy  absence,  an  hour. 

Thou  cherish'd  above, 
In  sinless  domains; 

Where  th'  spirit  of  Love 
Eternally  reigns. 


poems.  253 


Thy  music  has  measure, 

Earth  seldom  has  known: 
O  come;  we  will  treasure 

Each  full  meaning  tone. 

O  Thou,  of  that  throne 

Which  Seraphs  surround; 
Where  light  is  thy  zone, 

With  majesty  crown'd: 
Thou  mighty  Eternal, 

O  now  send  her  forth, 
Whose*form  is  supernal — 

Whose  nature,  all  worth. 

The  invocation  gently  rose  upon 

The  light  ethereal  wave,  like  incense  borne 

From  off  the  holy  altar,  when  its  fire 

Consumes  an  unadulterated  gift, 

By  sacred  hands  spread  out  in  sacrifice: 

When  lo!  obedient  to  the  pray'r  of  Truth; 

A  form,  of  more  than  mortal  beauty,  came, 

Descending  on  a  lucid  azure  ray — 

A  heavenly  nymph!    'Twas  Wisdom — Wisdom's  self- 

The  uncreated,  true  original 

Of  ev'ry  counterfeit  of  excellence — 

Of  ev'ry  ideal  form,  and  fairy  shape 

That  calls  for  worshippers;  from  Pallas  and 

Minerva,  deities  immortaliz'd 

With  ancient  Grecian  fame;  e'en  down  to  her, 

Proud  England's  present  royal  Queen,  the  last 

Of  worship'd  idols  of  imperial  courts. 


254  POEMS. 


She  came: — Her  awe  inspiring  dignity, 
O'er  the  warm  heart  of  young  Experience; 
Spread  an  o'erpow'ring  charm — a  spell  of  fear 
And  sweet  astonishment,  until  he  was 
Insensibly  entranc'd:  his  pulses  died 
Away;  and  life  with  him  was  ebbing  low, 
Until  the  genial,  life  inspiring  voice 
Of  Wisdom — the  sweet  incense  of  her  breath — 
Her  gentle,  placid  tones — her  whispers  soft 
And  bland;  restor'd  him  back  to  consciousness 
And  free  reciprocating  thought;  and  then 
She  smil'd  upon  him.    That  one  smile,  had  more 
Of  the  true  spirit  of  Philosophy, 
And  more  of  Inspiration,  than  the  whole 
Grey  catalogue  of  grim  astrologers 
That  ever  wav'd  the  dubious  magic  wand; 
And  more  than  e'er  evaporated  thro' 
The  tripod  screen  of  Delphi's  oracle. 
'Twas  full  of  meaning,  grac'd  with  common-sense; 
And  'neath  its  potent,  fascinating  charm, 
The  youth,  restor'd  to  vigor,  and  endow'd 
With  strength,  and  gifts,  and  faculties,  that  he, 
'Till  then,  had  not  possess'd;  sat  meekly  down 
At  Wisdom's  feet:  and  she  address'd  him  thus: 

"  Brother,  I  call  thee  such,  for  such  thou  wert 
To  me  in  yonder  world,  from  whence  we  came, 
And  where  I  still  abide;  except  at  times, 
I  come  to  Truth  to  cheer  his  loneliness, 
And  watch,  unseen,  about  your  youthful  steps. 

Your  recollection,  now  adapted  to 


POEMS.  255 


Your  present  state;  has  lost  its  former  hold 
On  things  eternal,  and  has  dropp'd  the  claim 
By  which  you  held  me  in  fraternal  bonds 
Beside  thee,  in  our  social  native  home. 
There  kindred  love  exists. 

Affection's  ties 
Are  sever'd — consanguinity  divox'c'd, 
When  e'er  a  spirit  condescends  to  come 
To  tabernacle  with  the  sons  of  men, 
But  not  forever :  When  the  living  clay, 
By  death  is  smitten,  and  returns  to  dust; 
The  spirit,  back  again,  instinctive  flies 
Home  to  its  loving,  lov'd  associates. 

And  now,  young  Brother;  since  thy  days  are  few 
On  earth;  let  me  admonish  you  in  love, 
Cling  to  your  brother's  standard— ever  be 
With  him,  when  in  nocturnal  silence,  he 
Seeks  intercourse  with  that  Intelligence 
Who  is  from  everlasting,  and  who  will 
To  everlasting  ages  yet  remain. 
And  when  Truth  comes  for  converse  here  with  me, 
On  things  ineffable;  come  thou.    Seek  too; 
And  thou,  too  often  canst  not  seek,  the  grave 
Society  of  chaste  Reflection.    Though 
Her  deeply  penetrating  eye,  at  times 
Is  shrouded  with  the  dew  of  sadness,  and 
Her  speech  may  sometimes  savor  of  reproof; 
Her  words  are  fraught  with  usefulness — her  soul 
Is  near  allied  to  mine.     Thus,  as  thy  years 


256  POEMS. 


Shall  multiply,  thy  nature  shall  expand; 
And  when  old  Age  shall  place  his  coronet, 
Stamp'd  with  the  burnish'd  seal  of  Honor,  on 
Your  head;  the  heav'ns  in  approbativeness, 
Will  send  me  down,  with  thee  again  to  share 
Those  kindred  ties  of  close  affinity, 
Which  held  us  in  relationship  before. 

And  even  now,  amid  the  recklessness 
Of  your  unpractis'd,  young,  and  scanty  years; 
Through  humble  supplication,  fervently 
Prefer' d  to  yonder  throne  invisible; 
You  may  call  down  my  presence.    I  will  spread 
A  halo  luminous  around  thy  feet, 
And  breathe  rich  music  to  your  inmost  soul." 

She  said  no  more:  but  with  a  sweetly  bland, 
And  sisterly  affection;  printed  on 
The  cheek  of  each,  a  tender  parting  kiss, 
And  took  her  upward  flight. 

With  mutual  looks 
That  told  too  well,  a  tale  of  deep  regret, 
The  brothers  cast  a  farewell,  ling'ring  look 
At  the  departing  Seraph;  then  arose, 
And  cours'd  their  homeward  way;  and  as 
They  went.  Experience  serenaded  thus: 

Richer  than  the  pearls  which  ocean 
Treasures  in  its  ample  bed; 

Is  each  cherish'd,  sweet  emotion, 
Wisdom  gently  deigns  to  shed. 


POEMS.  257 


Wisdom  has  no  false  attraction — 
Pure  and  spotless  is  her  soul; 

When  she  stimulates  to  action, 
Hers  is  no  usurp'd  control. 

Onward,  Time!  thy  chariot  hasten — 
Let  the  scenes  of  life  awake : 

When  their  keen  corrosives  chasten 
Me,  I'll  smile,  for  Wisdom's  sake. 

Welcome  Age:  I'll  hail  our  union 
As  a  point  replete  with  gain, 

If  thro'  thee,  a  full  communion, 
I  with  Wisdom,  shall  obtain. 

Bind  thy  wreath  about  my  temples- 
Place  thy  signet  on  my  brow — 

On  my  cheek,  thy  furrow-dimples, 
Plant,  where  blood  is  coursing  now. 

If  she  loves  the  hoary  headed, 
Let  me  be  what  Wisdom  loves: 

Let  my  nature  all  be  wedded 
To  whatever  she  approves. 

By  her  heav'nly  precepts  guided— 
With  her  counsel  for  my  shield : 

All  my  efforts,  undivided, 
Shall  for  Truth,  the  falchion  wield. 


23 


258  poems. 


CHAPTER   FOURTH. 

Contents.— 27ie  hall  of  Prejudice— A  conversation— Consterna- 
tion enters  and  announces  the  progress  of  Truth,  etc. — 
Sundry  measures  proposed  for  the  support  of  Error— The 
Convention  appoints  Deceit  to  devise  measures,  and  adjourns 
for  his  deliberation— Is  reassembled,  and  the  plans  divulged, 
which  are  applauded  by  a  motion  for  immediate  execution— 
The  Convention  dissolves  -The  care  of  Stupidity  for  Error— 
A  description  of  him— Description  of  his  wife,  Content— She 
commences  a  Sonnet— Error's  approval  -She  concludes  the 
Sonnet. 

In  the  grand,  spacious  hall  of  Prejudice, 
Built  in  that  olden  form  of  architect, 
The  Tuscan  order,  of  anterior  date, 
A  caucus  was  convened:  and,  speeches  there 
Of  senatorian  length — spun  out,  with  skill 
Congressional;  reverberating  roll'd 
Their  wordy  force  along  the  marble  walls. 

Opinions  in  a  sanguine  torrent  flow'd, 
While  arguments,  unutter'd  and  unform'd 
With  crude,  contingent  cogitations,  groan 'd 
For  utterance:  while  thoughts  compres'd  revolved 
Like  fever'd  madness,  'round  the  throbbing  brain. 
When  lo!  a  messenger  in  fearful  haste, 
(A  haste  betok'ning  evil  tidings  borne;) 
With  wild,  distorted  features,  and  with  hair 
DishevePd  recklessly  upon  the  breeze; 
Was  seen  approaching;  and  anon,  unask'd 
And  with  a  rude,  unceremonious  step, 
Abruptly  mingled  in  the  Council  hall. 


POEMS.  259 


"  This  honorable  body  will  excuse 
(Said  Consternation,  while  the  looks  of  all 
Bespoke  anxiety  the  most  intense) 
This  interruption:    I'm  expressly  sent 
By  Disappointment,  to  announce  to  you, 
Altho'  unwelcome  be  the  news;  what  has 
Of  late  transpir'd  upon  the  borders  of 
This  province." 

Superstition,  who  had  been 
By  vote  called  to  the  presidency  of 
That  sitting  Council;  bade  the  messenger 
Proceed.     "  There's  been  a  mighty  falling  off 
Along  the  borders  of  your  wide  domain. 
Increasing  still — the  dread  contagion  of 
Apostacy  is  spreading  far  and  wide — 
Like  fires  in  Autumn,  that  have  broken  loose 
Upon  the  meadow,  when  its  herbage,  scath'd 
With  nightly  frosts,  is  of  its  verdure  shorn  ; 
Threat'ning  depopulation  to  the  realm 
Where  Prejudice  presides.    Huge  multitudes, 
By  flight  precipitate,  adhere  to  Truth, 
And  gather  'round  the  standard  he  has  rais'd 
In  opposition  to  your  noble  prince, 
The  royal,  high  born  Error.    Error  will 
Be  left  without  supporters,  if  perchance, 
The  growing  mischief  cannot  be  subdued. 

The  blast  which  Falsehood's  fruitful  forge  propel'd, 
Is  now  producing  a  reaction,  rife 
With  more  of  evil  than  of  good  to  us: 


260  POEMS. 

For  through  the  influence  of  its  thundering  noise, 
So  long  and  loud;  Investigation  has 
Been  fiercely  rous'd,  and  all  his  faculties 
Exerted,  which,  of  course,  preponderate 
Against  ourselves;  and  he  is  now  abroad; 
And  with  his  presence  fascination  seems 
Most  firmly  and  inseparably  wove; 
And  to  his  person  delegates  a  pow'r, 
That  predisposes  to  the  side  of  Truth." 

When  Consternation's  narrative  was  done, 
A  deep'ning  groan  thro'  the  assembly  mov'd; 
And  sombre  clouds,  like  morning  mists  that  hide 
The  distant  landscape  from  the  view,  bespread 
O'er  ev'ry  phiz  except  the  laughing  brow 
Of  wild  Enthusiasm.     Her  recklessness 
Drew  from  old  Superstition's  rigid  soul, 
A  sharp  rebuke. 

Deeply  encompass'd  with 
That  kind  of  sanctimonious  dignity 
Which  silence'  spell  creates — profusely  clad 
In  his  imperial  and  un  diminish 'd  robe, 
The  honor' d  Error  sat.    Old  Prejudice, 
With  stern  indignity,  appear'd  to  scorn 
A  shade  of  sorrow.     But  poor  Ign'rance'  heart, 
Of  other  texture— cast  in  softer  mould— 
Yearn'd,  as  a  mother's  heart  is  wont  to  yearn 
O'er  helpless  imbecility.    Her  tears, 
In  close  succession,  chas'd  each  other  down 
Her  placid  cheek. 


POEMS.  261 

Thus  for  a  long,  long  space, 
The  Council  sat;  while  o'er  a  motley  crowd 
Of  feelings,  and  a  wild  variety 
Of  thoughts,  that  gather'd  into  huddled  heaps, 
A  murky  silence  brooded:    Till  at  length, 
The  stable-soul'd  Tradition — sage  with  years, 
Whose  steadfast  and  undeviating  mind 
Had  never  felt  a  change:  arose,  and  thus 
Address'd  the  waiting  audience. 

"  My  friends, 
Let  not  the  unattested  fol  de  rol, 
Which  you  this  day  have  heard,  occasion  you 
Too  much  alarm.    The  recent  efforts  which 
Stern  Bigotry,  coercing  Falsehood,  made; 
I  was  and  still  am  well  aware,  are  such 
As  Folly  and  young  Indiscretion  would 
Inspire. 

Our  cause  is  everlasting,  for 
'Tis  bas'd  upon  those  changeless  principles 
Which  I  inculcate — principles,  which  like 
My  nature,  are  immovable;  and  as 
My  nature,  free  from  innovation;  and 
Needs  not  those  vollies  of  redundant  means 
That  have  enlisted  you  their  services. 

Why  should  the  lovely  face  of  nature  be 
Distorted,  and  our  sunny  skies  obscur'd, 
And  the  soft  spicy  gales  that  gently  dance 
Upon  the  lucid  atmosphere,  be  put 
In  such  intolerable  rage,  and  wild 


262  poems. 


Commotion,  by  the  foul  and  madd'ning  blast, 
Which  emanates  from  Falsehood's  dark  recess? 
My  single  arm  is  all  sufficient  to 
Perpetuate  this  kingdom  and  insure 
Endless  duration  to  our  regency." 

Old  Party-zeal,  who,  like  a  tremor,  sat 
Beneath  Tradition's  speech — his  sightless  balls, 
Like  spheres  disorganiz'd,  that  burst  the  bounds 
Prefix'd  by  nature  to  define  their  course, 
And  lawlessly  emerge  abroad;  roll'd  round 
With  vagrant  motion;  while  his  bony  limbs 
Shook  tremulously,  by  the  phrenzy  of 
His  deep  impassioned  spirit,  thus  arous'd 
To  tones  impetuous;  hastily  arose, 
And  clos'd  Tradition's  brief  oration,  with 
The  fevid  introduction  of  his  own. 


"  I  claim  your  audience.    My  soul  is  stir'd 
Within  me,  that  this  honorable  hall 
Should  be  saluted,  and  its  echoing  base, 
And  speaking  columns,  forc'd  to  iterate 
With  such  laconic,  dull,  dispassionate 
Harangues,  in  an  emergency  like  this. 
Pshaw!  who  could  think  your  august  presence  would 
Be  call'd  to  witness  propositions,  such 
As  have  been  laid  before  you?    What!    Shall  we, 
At  this  important  juncture  in  affairs, 
Dispense  with  Falsehood's  most  efficient  skill? 
We  might  as  well  relinquish  Error's  self, 
As  silence  such  promoters  of  his  cause, 


poems.  263 


As  Falsehood,  Slander,  Calumny,  Abuse, 

Deceit  and  Ignorance  and  Prejudice, 

With  all  our  royal  line  of  royalties; 

Relying  solely  on  the  agency 

Of  old  Tradition.    Not  that  I  intend 

To  underrate  his  services.    I  know 

They  have  been,  and  are  still  of  great  account. 

His  precepts  are  most  honorably  firm; 

And  he  is  like  a  stately  pillar  in 

This  commonwealth:  he  stands  unmoved,  amid 

The  fiercest  blast— he's  able  to  repel 

E'en  Truth  himself,  in  single  combat  join'd; 

But  now,  too  formidable  are  our  foes — 

By  far  too  numerous — they  are  too  much 

Control'd  by  wise  Investigation,  to 

Be  foil'd  without  our  concentrated  force. 

Then  surely,  let  us  summons  ev'ry  one 
That  wears  the  crest  of  Lucifer,  and  is 
By  him  commissioned  to  perform  in  war. 

Let  Bigotry  arouse  and  stand  at  helm, 
To  nerve  the  arm  of  Falsehood  to  put  forth 
Redoubled  blasts.    Let  Persecution  draw 
His  crimson'd  bow,  and  all  ye  Furies,  rise- 
Without  delay,  perform  your  midnight  works! 
Spare  not  the  face  of  nature — heed  it  not 
Though  sunny  skies  and  balmy  gales,  and  all 
The  silken  joys  of  sweet  repose,  are  doom'd 
To  be  annihilated  by  your  tread — 
Push  on— the  end  will  sanctify  the  means- 
Be  potv'r  your  right — let  force  the  right  decide." 


264  poems. 


Thus  Party-zeal  closed  up  the  fervor  of 
The  warm  effusion  of  his  heated  brain. 
His  speech  was  follow'd  by  a  clam'rous  shout 
Of  joy.    Enthusiasm  was  frantical, 
But  Superstition  call'd  for  order;  and 
It  was  propos'd  that  measures  for  defense, 
And  measures  of  aggression  too,  such  as 
Would  suit  exigences;  should  be  prescrib'd. 

The  Council  mov'd — 'twas  seconded  and  pass'd. 
"That,  as  Deceit  had  signaliz'd  himself 
In  desp'rate  cases  heretofore;  that  he 
Devise  such  plans  of  operation  as 
His  judgment  shall  direct,  to  govern  us 
In  future — plans  of  operation  to 
Secure  ourselves,  and  overthrow  the  pow'r 
Of  Truth." 

The  Council  then  adjourn'd  until 
Deceit  had  leisurely  applied  his  thoughts 
To  schemes — to  ruminations  intricate: 
And  when  he  fixed  his  eye  upon  the  point, 
That  seem'd  to  grasp  the  grand  accomplishment 
Of  what  he  wish'd;  he  drew  his  purpose  forth, 
With  all  the  ease  and  all  the  recklessness, 
That  masters  of  the  little  art  draw  out 
From  its  entanglements,  the  "  puzzling  chain." 

His  plans  matured— the  Council  re-convened; 
And  he  deliberately  spread  them  forth; 
In  matter  and  in  manner  following: 

"  Error  must  be  again  committed  to 


poems.  265 

The  oversight  of  old  Stupidity; 

That  Prejudice  and  Ignorance  may  go 

Abroad,  to  do  their  handy  work — to  wrap 

Their  sombre  veils  about  the  senses;  thus 

To  shackle  Intellect,  and  fix  a  bolt 

Upon  proud  Understanding's  citadel; 

E'en  though  Sincerity,  her  azure  seal 

May  place  indubitably  on  the  heart. 

Thus  will  they  hold  beyond  the  reach  of  Truth, 

Each  intellectual  organ;  and  close  up 

The  avenues  of  Common-sense,  and  spread 

A  net,  to  meet  and  baffle  all  the  skill 

Of  bold  Investigation. 

Falsehood,  then, 
May  pour  his  smoking,  burning  lava  forth 
Without  reserve,  and  fill  the  'itching  ears.' 

This  measure  will  secure  our  strength :  and  then 
Means  must  be  put  in  progress,  to  subdue 
The  pow'r  of  Truth  and  his  adherents. 

Let 
Our  haughty  Pride  take  Envy,  his  belov'd, 
With  all  their  children,  Avarice  and  Hate, 
And  their  huge  brother  Jealousy,  whose  eyes 
Of  green  and  livid  hue,  protrude  beyond 
Their  own  digressing  orbits— and  Distrust, 
And  Selfishness;  and  let  them  also  take 
Their  whole  domestic  retinue — a  host 
Of  valitudinarians,  that  feed, 
And  feast  themselves  at  others'  cost.     And  then 


24 


266  poems. 

To  grace  their  num'rous  train,  and  to  perfect 

Their  work;  a  priest  or  priestess  must  go  forth 

With  them;  for  vain  is  all  the  influence 

Exerted  yet;  without  the  sacred  garb 

Of  piety.    Dissimulation  wears, 

Wi^h  easy  grace,  the  sacerdotal  gown: 

He  prays  like  Abel,  and  performs  like  Cain: 

Therefore  let  him  be  duly  authoriz'd 

To  act  in  holy  things — and  let  him  join 

Himself  unto  the  kindred,  household  band 

Of  Pride  and  Envy.    Let  them  colonize 

In  yonder  province — in  the  very  heart 

Of  that  dense  population. 

Stilly  as 
The  breath  of  midnight  softly  glides  upon 
The  wings  of  darkness;  imperceptibly 
They'll  undermine  the  solid  basement  of 
Herculean  Union,  who  maintains,  within 
His  hold,  the  massy  keys  of  God-like  strength. 

His  mansion  shaken— Union  will  depart; 
And  ere  pale  Envy's  infant  Discord  shall 
Arrive  to  manhood's  height,  he  will  maintain, 
By  dint  of  firm  possession,  for  his  own 
Inheritance,  and  at  his  own  behest; 
A  rich  estate,  beneath  the  busy  eye 
Of  tall  Inquiry." 

When  the  speaker  clos'd; 
As  subterranean  gases— long  confin'd, 
Ignited,  burst  with  a  tremendous  roar; 
So  rang  the  shout  of  approbation,  through 


POEMS.  267 


That  spacious  hall.    E'en  Superstition  spoke 
His  warm  approval  to  the  plans  propos'd; 
And  he  confess'd  Deceit  had  usher'd  forth 
An  effigy  of  Wisdom— not  his  own. 

But  the  squint-eyed  Suspicion  watched  Deceit, 
And  saw  him  turn  and  laugh  in  secrecy, 
While  to  himself,  he  mutter'd  rhapsodies 
Of  sly  intent. 

The  Council  then  proposed 
A  forthwith  execution  of  the  schemes 
Just  laid  before  it:  And  without  delay, 
With  buoyant  hearts,  the  splendid  colonists 
Took  their  departure  for  the  sphere  assign'd 
To  them. 

The  vehicle  of  Fashion,  too, 
Was  call'd  in  requisition;  and  the  steed  • 

Of  Popularity,  caparison'd 
With  gaudy  strings  of  shining  ornaments — 
With  nimble  feet,  and  nostrils  snuffing  air; 
Was  harness'd  to  the  waiting  vehicle: 
And  Prejudice  and  Ignorance,  anon 
Were  mounted  there.    The  sage  Tradition  sat 
Lowly  in  front,  and  grasp'd  the  gorgeous  reins; 
When  swift  as  eagles  on  the  lucid  air, 
With  eager  haste  their  plumy  pinions  ply; 
Smoothly  and  swiftly  roll'd  the  chariot  on, 
And  bath'd  its  glitt'ring  wheels,  in  golden  beams. 

The  caucus  rising,  separated;  and 
Stupidity,  with  most  dispassionate 


268  POEMS. 

Composure,  then  address'd  himself  to  the 
Requir'd  attendance  on  his  precious  charge. 

There's  nothing  moves  upon  affection's  cord 
With  softer  touch,  or  in  a  heart  that  beats 
With  sensitive  emotion;  wakens  more 
Of  unaffected  tenderness,  than  the 
Lone  watch  o'er  sleeping,  helpless  innocence. 
Stupidity,  to  cradle  nurs'ries  rear'd; 
Had  watch'd  o'er  Error's  earliest  infancy; 
And  all  the  warmth  his  passive  nature  knew, 
Had  been  from  time  to  time  arous'd,  until 
His  own  existence  seem'd  itself,  to  be 
With  Error's  being,  intricately  join'd. 

But  then,  Stupidity  was  not  alone 
Without  a  mate — he  had  his  "better  half" — 
His  dear  Content — the  partner  he  had  wooed 
In  early  boyhood.     Though  she  was  of  birth 
More  noble  than  himself;  and  might  have  grac'd 
A  higher  walk — have  rank'd  with  royalty, 
And  smil'd  where  princely  lords  affect  to  smile 
By  her  consent:  and  though  she  might  have  dwelt 
With  her  twin-sister,  the  deep-soul'd  Content, 
The  fair  and  noble  form  that  ever  dwells 
Affectionately  in  the  blest  abode 
Of  Usefulness  and  Virtue;  she  had  cleign'd 
To  be  his  own;  and  in  the  evenness 
Of  his  career,  forego  the  envied  height 
That  crowns  the  halls  of  bright  Activity. 

And  ever  since  their  first  espousal,  she 


POEMS.  269 


Adheres  to  him,  with  all  the  constancy 
Of  love  effeminate. 

With  her  sweet  voice — 
So  near  allied  to  silence,  that  its  strains 
Scarce  urg'd  a  motion,  tremulous,  on  air: 
She,  singing  thus,  caress'd  his  hours  away. 

SONNET. 

Error  has  a  charm  to  bless— 
Error's  presence  we  possess; 
Dearer  far,  than  Happiness, 
Is  Stupidity. 

Ail  Enjoyment's  boasted  reign, 
Is  but  a  reprieve  from  pain; 
And  she  crowns  the  broad  domain 
Of  Stupidity. 

Ours,  are  joys  that  come  unbought 

With  the  coin  of  tedious  thought — 

Pleasures  flow,  unask'd,  unsought, 

Through  Stupidity. 

Each  emotion  of  the  breast — 
Ev'ry  passion,  lull'd  to  rest: 
With  unconscious  ease  impres'd, 
Is  Stupidity. 

Get  you  hence — ye  works  of  Art, 
With  the  treasures  you  impart — 
Let  me  press  me  to  the  heart 
Of  Stupidity. 


270  POEMS. 


Let  Refinement  come  not  here — 
Nor  Intelligence  draw  near 
To  the  sphere— the  blessed  sphere 
Of  Stupidity. 

He  is  faithful  to  his  trust — 
Books  may  moulder — tools  may  rust — 
All  Improvement  lick  the  dust, 
With  Stupidity. 

O  Stupidity,  my  Love: 
Thou  art  gentle  as  the  dove — 
None  but  Error  ranks  above 

Thee,  Stupidity. 

Thus  sang  Content;  while  on  his  downy  mat, 
At  Error's  feet,  her  spouse  reclining  lay — 
Breathless  and  motionless,  lest  lucklessly, 
Her  strains  so  sweet,  and  so  congenial  to 
His  feelings,  might  perchance,  escape  his  ear, 
As  they  were  gliding  from  her  gentle  tongue. 

Error  was  pleas'd:  He  smil'd,  and  bowing  down 
To  catch  the  ling'ring  echo  of  the  strain 
That  died  away;  as  nature's  pulses  die, 
Arnid  the  melting,  sultry  noon-day  heat 
Of  a  hot  summer's  sun;  he  slyly  pres'd 
A  stealthy  kiss  upon  the  dimpled  cheek 
Of  the  dispassionately  fond  Content. 

Encourag'd  by  the  condescension  of 
A  being  thus  rever'd:  with  louder  tones, 


POEMS.  271 


She  clos'd  the  music  of  her  minstrelsy. 
List  to  the  strain: 

Error's  foes  will  not  prevail: 
All  the  pow'rs  of  Truth  will  fail, 
If  he  treads  within  the  pale 
Of  Stupidity. 

Should  Investigation  roam 
Here;  he'll  be  but  ill  at  home; 
Let  him  not  essay  to  come 

Near  Stupidity. 

Prejudice  and  Ignorance 
Will  environ  Common-sense, 
And  secure  the  strong  defence 
Of  Stupidity. 

Then,  O  Error,  let  thy  breast 
Be  with  sweet  repose  imprest: 
Multitudes,  with  thee,  will  rest, 
Great  Stupidity. 


272  poems. 


CHAPTER    FIFTH. 

Contents. — The  friends  of  Truth  are  convened  to  discuss  sub- 
jects interesting  to  him  and  his  cause— Investigation  returns 
from  an  excursion — He  conducts  Discernment  and  Intelli 
gence  into  the  edifice,  where  Truth  is  seated  in  audience — 
Lays  the  package  of  Intelligence  on  the  table — After  various 
discussions,  Experience  maUes  a  speech,  containing  instruc- 
tions for  their  future  benefit — Truth  suggests  the  immediate 
supplanting  of  the  colony  of  Pride,  recently  planted  in  their 
midst,  by  the  friends  of  Error — The  Poem  concludes  with  the 
Ode  of  Genius  to  Truth. 

The  friends  of  Truth,  were  congregated  in 
A  spacious  edifice,  that  nobly  rear'd 
Its  tow 'ring  disk,  beside  the  mountain,  where 
Truth's  banner  wav'd;  to  hear  and  to  be  heard, 
In  deep  discussions,  long  and  intricate; 
Involving  thoughts  elaborately  turn'd 
Upon  the  nature,  origin,  and  the 
Grand  destination  of  immortal  Truth ; 
While  his  own  self  presided. 

His  pure  mind 
Was  so  securely  fortified  against 
That  vanity  of  feeling,  and  of  thought, 
That  reigns  inherent  in  the  human  heart; 
That  he  could  sit  in  judgment,  and  decide 
Upon  the  merits  of  discussions,  when 
His  merits  were  discuss'd.    Inquiry,  too, 
Was  present;  and  his  consort  Knowledge,  sat 


poems.  273 


With  close  attention,  silent  by  his  side. 
Thought  freely  was  exchang'd;  and  sentiments 
Of  richest  texture,  liberally  were, 
From  num'rous  fountains,  flowing  in  a  stream 
Of  unaffected  reciprocity. 

From  an  excursion,  which  had  been  perform'd 
With  much  of  honor  to  himself,  and  some 
Advantage  to  the  onward  cause  of  Truth; 
Investigation  had  return'd:  but  scarce 
Had  leisure  time  to  rest  himself  from  the 
Dull  weight  of  weariness,  and  to  regale 
His  appetite  upon  the  viands  which 
Economy  had  plac'd  before  him;  ere 
Discernment,  who  had  been  by  Truth  employ'd 
To  watch  events  as  they  transpired  abroad; 
Return'd,  and  with  her,  came  Intelligence, 
Her'*faithful  escort.    When  "an  interview, 
Between  them  and  Investigation,  had 
Ensued;  Investigation  rose,  and  with 
A  hasty  step;  conducted  them  to  the 
Saloon,  where  Truth  was~then  in  audience 
Deliberately  seated — where  the  voice 
Of  bland  Experience,  with  eloquence, 
Replete  with  learning's  master  music;  hush'd 
To  sleep,  the  god  of  Silence:   He  awoke, 
And  Silence  rose  to  pay  respectfully 
His  most  "appropriate  addresses  to 
Investigation;  whose  hale  presence  drew, 
From  all  his  friends,  a  liberal  respect: 
And  consequently,  from  his  enemies, 


274  poems. 


A  cold,  repulsive,  deferential  awe, 
The  nearest  kin  to  Hate. 

The  greetings  o'er — 
Investigation  spread  the  package  of 
Intelligence  upon  the  table,  and 
Announc'd  the  circumstances  that  occur'd 
Beneath  the  influence  of  motions  pass'd, 
And  resolutions  put  in  practice,  in 
The  Council  Hall  of  Prejudice,  and  were 
Discover'd  thro'  Discernment's  optic-glass. 

The  hostile  movements,  which  were  going  on, 
Requir'd  the  most  efficient  means  applied 
By  Perseverance'  firm,  untiring  hand. 

Experience,  who  had  of  late,  increas'd 
In  stature,  as  in  years;  and  frequently 
Free  converse  held  with  Wisdom;  was  requir'd 
To  say  what  he  opined  would  most  conduce 
To  public  benefit.    He  then  arose, 
And  thus  address'd  the  waiting  audience: 

"Most  worthy  friends,  let  not  your  hearts  despond 
By  reason  of  the  articles  contain'd 
In  the  last  bundle  of  Intelligence. 

'Midst  all  the  tumults  and  commotions— 'midst 
The  storms  of  war  that  on  our  borders  rage 
Most  rudely  and  relentlessly;  it  seems 
That  Fortune,  though  she  frowns  on  us  at  times; 
In  the  event,  will  ever  potently 
Incline  her  balance  in  our  favor.    Hosts 


poems.  275 

Of  immigrants  continually  flow 

From  yonder  vale,  to  share  the  blessings  of 

Our  pure,  salubrious,  heav'nly  climate.     Much, 

Investigation,  by  his  arduous  toils, 

Thro'  Perseverance'  genial  aid;  has  done 

In  our  behalf.    But  let  us  not  relax 

Our  efforts,  short  of  the  accomplishment 

Of  what  should  be  accomplish'd:  Let  us  not 

Fall  short  of  the  entire  attainment  of 

The  highest  point  that  is  attainable. 

Since  Prejudice  and  Ignorance  are  bent 
To  use  their  utmost  influence,  they  must 
Be  met  by  strength  and  skill  commensurate. 
They  are  our  great  antagonists :  for  by 
Their  pow'r  and  their  unceasing  diligence, 
All  other  foes  of  ours,  now  draw  support. 

Error  will  reign—and  reign  so  long  as  he, 
By  the  deep  hidden  strength  of  Prejudice 
And  Ignorance,  shall  be  upheld.    Each  dart 
That's  aim'd  at  him,  falls  light  and  harmlessly— 
By  him  unheeded  and  unfelt;  while  thus 
By  them  he  is  sustain'd.    Therefore,  arise, 
Investigation,  and  once  more  go  forth 
With  your  beloved  Candor:  Go,  and  chase 
Them  from  our  borders— drive  them  home 
Into  their  secret  lurking-place,  and  smite 
Them  there.    Then,  like  a  mountain,  undermin'd, 
The  mighty  Error  will  come  tumbling  down; 
And  make  the  nations  tremble  with  his  fall. 

But  to  precede  those  all  important  deeds, 


276  poems. 


Inquiry  must  display  his  tactic  skill 

In  the  destruction  of  that  false  Content, 

Around  whose  fairy-shapen  image,  twine 

The  very  heart  strings  of  Stupidity; 

And  on  whose  music's  sweet,  delusiye  sound, 

His  life's  dull  pulses  move  unconsciously. 

Let  her  be  stricken  from  existence,  and 
The  charm,  by  which  she  holds  him,  be  destroy'd; 
And  he  will  mount  the  morning  mist,  and  fly, 
Like  an  autumnal,  wither'd  leaf,  away 
Into  Oblivion's  dusky  vale,  and,  seek, 
In  that  recess,  where  my  great  name-sake  finds 
His  chosen  residence;  a  resting  place. 

Then  will  long  sleeping  Intellect  arouse, 
And  concentrating  her  awaken'd  pow'rs; 
Will  aid  the  wise  Investigation,  in 
The  consummation  of  his  sacred  work. 

'Tis  an  important  business,  and  cannot 
Be  done  in  darkness:  therefore,  thou,  O  Truth, 
Must  give  thy  sanction— yes,  and  more  than  that— 
Thou  must  go  with  us,  and  dispense  the  light 
Which  radiates  from  thy  glowing  countenance; 
To  shield  us  from  the  dark,  disguis'd  attacks 
Of  midnight's  foul  assassins. 

Say,  O  Truth, 
Shall  we  thus  aid  Investigation?    Shall 
We  all  be  colleagues  in  this  enterprise? 
Appro  vest  thou  the  scheme  I  have  prescrib'd?  " 


POEMS. 


Experience  gracefully  resum'd  his  seat, 
And  ev'ry  eye  was  turn'd  inquiringly, 
Upon  the  face  of  Truth,  whose  features  glow'd 
With  full  expression. 

"What  Experience  has 
Express'd,"  said  he,  "I  fully  sanction;  but 
There's  one  consideration,  which  I  would 

Suggest. 

That  colonizing  company, 
Consisting  of  the  family  of  Pride 
And  his  attendants;  which  Discernment  saw 
Prepar'd  for  a  location  in  our  midst, 
To  undermine  our  Union;  now  requires 
Our  prompt — our  first  attention.     Let  us  then 
Be  on  th'  alert,  and  intercept  them,  ere 
They,  for  themselves,  a  foothold  shall  secure. 
>Tis  easier,  much,  to  give  a  rolling  stone, 
A  retrogading  motion,  than  to  raise 
It  from  its  planted,  moss-grown  resting  place. 

Then  let  us  rise  with  Union,  for  to  rise 
With  Union,  is  to  rise  with  strength:  and  thus, 
Expel  those  innovations  from  us;  ere 
They  shall  obtain  the  right  of  residence. 
For  what  avails  all  foreign  conquest,  when 
An  enemy  is  lurking  in  our  midst — 
Preying  upon  domestic  quietude: 
And  through  our  vital  part,  the  heart  of  Peace, 
Diffuses  fest'ring  seeds  of  rottenness? 

We'll  join,  and  drive  those  renegadoes  hence; 


278  poems. 


That  when  Investigation's  vict'ry's  won, 
And  all  in  triumph  shall  return;  fair  Peace, 
With  smiles  will  wave  her  gentle  wand,  to  bid 
Us  welcome;  and  with  music's  holiest  strain, 
Transfer  her  diadem,  to  crown  our  home." 

Truth  closed  his  speech:    A  universal  nod, 
Betok'ning  approbation,  mov'd  around 
Through  the  assembly. 

Genius  propos'd 
To  grace  their  separation  with  an  Ode 
To  Truth:  and  chanted  thus,  the  parting  lay. 

THE  ODE  OF  GENIUS  TO  TRUTH. 

I'll  sing  to  thee,  O  Truth.     Thy  laws  are  giv'n 
For  my  directory  o'er  earth  and  heav'n: 
I  sing  of  thee — I  prize  thy  presence  more 
Than  all  the  gifts  from  Learning's  richest  store: 
I  sing  thy  praises — thou  art  all,  to  me — 
I  crave  no  pow'r,  but  what  I  draw  from  thee. 

Eternal  beauties  in  thy  features  glow, 
And  from  thy  lips,  eternal  fountains  now: 
Let  the  pure  lustre  of  thy  radiant  eye, 
Beam  thro'  my  soul,  and  lift  my  nature  high : 
The  master-strokes  that  on  my  pulses  roll, 
Are  but  the  emanations  of  thy  soul. 

Let  the  fierce  tigress  chide  her  churlish  brood- 
Monster  on  monster,  vent  its  spiteful  mood: 


poems.  279 


Let  crawling  reptiles  of  the  reptile  school, 
Chastise  offenders  of  their  puny  rule: 
Let  insects  feel  the  weight  of  insects'  paw, 
For  the  transgression  of  an  insect-law: 
But  Truth,  thy  advocates  shall  not  descend 
To  sordid  means,  thy  honor  to  defend: 
And  thou,  O  Truth,  wilt  not  ignobly  bend 
To  servile  measures,  for  a  noble  end. 

Should  lofty  Genius  strike  a  feeble  string? 
No:  in  thy  presence,  Truth,  of  Truth  I'll  sing. 
Thou  art  the  basis  of  each  worthy  theme: 
Thou  art  the  lustre  of  each  golden  beam: 
Wide  as  eternity,  diffuse  thy  light, 
Till  joyous  day  shall  burst  the  shades  of  night: 
Benighted  Earth  illumine  with  thy  rays — 
The  slumb'ring  nations  waken  with  thy  blaze. 

In  Falsehood's  stream,  let  Error  bathe  his  soul, 
And  Slander  bend  to  Envy's  base  control: 
Be  thou,  O  Truth,  my  arbiter  and  guide: 
Beneath  thy  standard,  let  my  feet  abide: 
Let  thy  celestial  Banner  be  unfuii'd, 
Until  its  crescent  circumscribes  the  world: 
On  Hope's  high  pinion,  write  thy  burnish'd  name, 
And  plant  thy  signet  on  the  spire  of  Fame. 

Go  forth,  and  conquer:  All  to  thee  shall  bow, 
And  fadeless  laurels  wreath  thy  noble  brow: 
The  palm  of  Vict'ry  waits  to  crown  thy  war — 
The  seal  of  Triumph,  lingers  not  afar. 


280  POEMS. 


Victorious  Truth,  thy  conq'ring  sceptre  wield, 
Till  all  thy  foes  in  due  submission  yield — 
Until  Inquiry  spreads  himself  abroad, 
And  Knowledge  smiles  to  his  instinctive  nod — 
Till  Party-zeal  is  shrouded  with  disgrace, 
And  Superstition  hides  his  lengthen'd  face — 
Till  old  Stupidity  is  forc'd  to  fly — 
Till  Ignorance  and  Prejudice  shall  die — 
Till  pompous  Error,  vanquished,  licks  the  dust, 
And  princely  Falsehood,  fires  his  smoking  bust; 
Then,  shall  thy  fiat  hold  the  world  in  awe, 
While  ev'ry  Isle  exults  to  hear  thy  law: 
Strong,  as  Omnipotence,  thy  arm  shall  prove, 
And  as  Eternal  as  the  throne  above. 


POEMS.  281 


FUNERAL  OF  PRESIDENT  BRIGHAM  YOUNG. 

[The  death  of  President  Brig  ham  Young  occurred  on  the 
29th  of  Aug.  1877,  two  months  after  the  foregoing 
Manuscript  was  sent  to  Press.'] 


That  morning  dawned  as  bright  and  beautiful 
As  morning  ever  dawned.    The  sun  rose  clear. 
The  day  was  glorious;  but  Zion  wept! 
The  sound  of  grief  was  heard  in  all  her  courts! 
The  Church  had  lost  a  Guide:  Humanity, 
An  able  Advocate — Mankind,  a  Friend. 

&-  $  $  *  %  »  * 

From  morn  till  morn,  the  body  lay  in  state 
And  thousands  came,  a  tribute  of  respect 
To  pay,  and  take  a  last— a  parting  view 
Of  the  illustrious  dead. 

The  funeral  rites 
Were  on  the  Sabbath  day.    At  service  hour, 
The  spacious  Tabernacle  densely  filled, 
Was  thronged  by  anxious  multitudes  without: 
Within,  one  vacant  Chair  remained 
Enrobed  in  folds  of  solemn  drapery! 

The  "Tenth  Ward  Band"  commenced  the  services- 
The  Choir  and  Organ  sweetly  sang  and  played; 


25 


282  POEMS. 


But  his,  the  most  appreciative  ear, 
No  longer  listened. 

Decked  with  pure  white  flowers, 
Hallow 'd  with  tear-drops  from  the  eyes  of  those 
Whose  skilful  hands,  prompted  by  loving  hearts, 
In  wreaths  entwined  them;  there  the  coffin  stood, 
Encasing  the  cold  form  of  him,  who'd  been 
Attraction's  centre;  and  the  cheering  voice 
Which  had,  for  years,  with  winning  eloquence, 
The  power  to  draw,  command  and  rivet  the 
Attention  of  an  audience,  was  still! 
And  mourning  sat  on  every  countenance, 
As  though  the  lights  of  earth  had  all  gone  out, 
And  left  a  calm — an  all  pervading  calm. 

But  men  of  God  were  there — men  who  had  "borne 
With  him,  the  heat  and  burden  of  the  day." 
Apostles,  Prophets,  Revelators,  Seers, 
Brave,  noble  men,  whose  hearts  had  never  quailed: 
Who  knew  no  fear  when  times  were  perilous. 
But  now,  when  speaking  of  their  leader's  worth — 
Their  love  for  him— their  loss,  and  Zion's  loss; 
The  firm  lip  quiver'd,  and  the  dew  of  grief, 
Beneath  their  eye-lids  gather'd.    Strong  men  wept! 

But  when  their  thoughts  reached  upward  and  the 
light 
Of  the  Almighty's  Spirit  beamed  upon 
Their  sorrowing  hearts,  in  God-like  majesty 
They  rose  superior  to  the  mournful  scene. 

They  knew  the  work  that  Brigham  Young,  so  long, 
With  master  mind  and  skill  had  pioneered, 


POEMS.  283 


Was  God's — that  He,  his  servants,  heretofore, 
Had  clothed  with  power  and  wisdom,  and  He  now 
Would  others  clothe  upon,  and  bear  them  off 
Triumphantly. 

Then  the  bold  eloquence 
Of  truth,  when  crowned  with  might  and  majesty, 
Flowed  from  their  lips  to  that  vast  audience, 
And  the  bright  rainbow  of  immortal  life, 
Appeared  in  beauty  o'er  the  cloud  of  grief; 
And  rays  of  joy  ineffable,  beamed  forth. 
Electrified  by  influence  divine, 
Wrapped  in  the  future,  men  forgot  to  weep. 

*  *  *  *  •:•:-  *  •* 

The  Tabernacle  service  closed — Anon 
The  grand  procession  formed  in  order,  and 
Moved  slowly  onward  to  the  waiting  tomb. 

All  Israel  were  mourners;  but  the  corse 
Was  followed  by  a  num'rous  weeping  train 
Of  those,  by  dear  and  filial  ties,  his  own. 

Their  hearts  were  stricken,  sad,  and  desolate, 
As  they  moved  slowly  to  the  burial 
Of  him,  the  husband— father— friend,  and  all 
Of  mortal  trust — the  guardian  of  their  lives; 
Whose  presence  formed  the  sunshine  of  their  hearts. 
Ne'er  was  a  father  more  affectionate 
Nor  yet  an  earthly  father  more  beloved. 

ThoWh  he  was  full  of  years,  their  fond  hopes  gave 
Them  promise  of  his  life  for  years  to  come. 
But  death  came  suddenly,  and  suddenly 
To  them  their  earthly  aims  became  a  blank! 


284  poems. 

They  felt  as  all  bereft — that  all  was  gone! 

It  seemed  to  them,  the  wheels  of  Time  stood  still, 

And  every  pulse  of  Nature  ceased  to  move. 

On,  slowly  on,  the  great  procession  moved 
To  the  repository  of  the  dead — 
A  site  reserved  on  his  own  premises 
Where  kindred  dust  is  sleeping  side  by  side: 
There,  in  a  new,  a  pure  white  sepulchre, 
The  coffin,  with  its  precious  charge,  was  placed. 

The  "Glee  Club"  stood  beside  the  tomb,  and  sang 
A  favorite  hymn  of  the  departed  one. 
Then  an  Apostle  knelt:  In  fervent  prayer 
He  dedicated  to  the  Lord  our  God, 
And,  for  the  safe,  and  undisturbed  repose 
Of  all,  now  sleeping — all  that  there  shall  sleep; 
The  sepulchre — the  coffin  and  its  sacred  trust — 
The  ground,  and  its  enclosure  'round  about. 

There  sleeps  the  weary  flesh,  and  rests  in  peace, 
While  he,  the  master  spirit  of  the  age, 
Associates  with  ta  e  first  great  leader  of 
This  Dispensation,  in  the  courts  above. 

He  loved  his  people — Their  high  destiny 
Will  be  a  monument  to  BMGHAM  YOUNG. 


I  rrrrr^JS^gJEEa 


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